"SHE   RAN   BLINDLY   TO  THE   STAIRWAY   AND   THERE 
FELL   FAINTING  ON   THE   FLOOR." — Page  IJ. 


From 
Whose  Bourne 


BY  ROBERT  BARR 

AUTHOR    OF  "  IN    THE    MIDST   OF   ALARMS,"     "  THE    FACE    AND 
THE    MASK,"    "A   WOMAN    INTERVENES,"    ETC. 


Illustrated  by  Frank  M.  Gregory 


Iftew  Jgorfe  atto  %ont>on 

FREDERICK  A.  STOKES  COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS 


Copyright,  1888,  by 
ROBERT  BARR 

Copyright,  1896,  by 
FREDERICK  A.  STOKES  COMPANY 


fit 


TO 

AN    HONEST    MAN 

AND 

A  GOOD  WOMAN 


/ft.  *~\      a     .9   -J    »'~\ 


From  Whose  Bourne. 


CHAPTER  I. 

"  MY  dear,"  said  William  Brenton  to 
his  wife,  "  do  you  think  I  shall  be 
missed  if  I  go  upstairs  for  a  while  ?  I 
am  not  feeling  at  all  well." 

"Oh,  I'm  so  sorry,  Will,"  replied 
Alice,  looking  concerned  ;  "  I  will  tell 
them  you  are  indisposed." 

"  No,  don't  do  that,"  was  the  answer  ; 
"  they  are  having  a  very  good  time, 
and  I  suppose  the  dancing  will  begin 
shortly ;  so  I  don't  think  they  will 
miss  me.  If  I  feel  better  I  will  be 
down  in  an  hour  or  two  ;  if  not,  I  shall 
go  to  bed.  Now,  dear,  don't  worry ; 
but  have  a  good  time  with  the  rest  of 
them. 


William  Brenton  went  quietly  up 
stairs  to  his  room,  and  sat  down  in  the 
darkness  in  a  rocking  chair.  Remain 
ing  there  a  few  minutes,  and  not  feel 
ing  any  better,  he  slowly  undressed 
and  went  to  bed.  Faint  echoes  reached 
him  of  laughter  and  song;  finally, 
music  began,  and  he  felt,  rather  thah 
heard,  the  pulsation  of  dancing  feec. 
Once,  when  the  music  had  ceased  for 
a  time,  Alice  tiptoed  into  the  roonf 
and  said  in  a  quiet  voice — 

"  How  are  you  feeling,  Will?  any 
better  ?" 

"  A  little/*  he  answered  drowsily. 
"  Don't  worry  about  me ;  I  shall  drop 
off  to  sleep  presently,  and  shall  be  all 
right  in  the  morning.  Good-night." 

He  still  heard  in  a  dreamy  sort  of 
way  the  music,  the  dancing,  the  laugh 
ter  ;  and  gradually  there  came  oblivion, 
which  finally  merged  into  a  dream,  the 
most  strange  and  vivid  vision  he  had 
ever  experienced.  It  seemed  to  him 
that  he  sat  again  in  the  rocking  chair 


ffrom  Wbose  bourne.  9 

near  the  bed.  Although  he  knew  the 
room  was  dark,  he  had  no  difficulty  in 
seeing  everything  perfectly.  He 
heard,  now  quite  plainly,  the  music 
and  dancing  downstairs,  but  what  gave 
a  ghastly  significance  to  his  dream  was 
the  sight  of  his  own  person  on  the  bedc 
,The  eyes  were  half  open,  and  the  face 
yas  drawn  and  rigid.  The  color  of 
{Jie  face  was  the  white,  greyish  tint  of 
death. 

T 

"This is  a  nightmare,"  said  Brenton 
to  himself ;  "  I  must  try  and  wake 
myself."  But  he  seemed  powerless  to 
do  this,  and  he  sat  there  looking  at  his 
own  body  while  the  night  wore  on. 
Once  he  rose  and  went  to  the  side  of 
the  bed.  He  seemed  to  have  reached 
it  merely  by  wishing  himself  there,  and 
he  passed  his  hand  over  the  face,  but 
no  feeling  of  touch  was  communicated 
to  him.  He  hoped  his  wife  would 
come  and  rouse  him  from  this  fearful 
semblance  of  a  dream,  and,  wishing 
this,  he  found  himself  standing  at  her 


io  ffrom  Mbose  Bourne. 

side  amidst  the  throng  downstairs,  who 
were  now  merrily  saying  good-bye. 
Brenton  tried  to  speak  to  his  wife,  but 
although  he  was  conscious  of  speaking, 
she  did  not  seem  to  hear  him,  or  know 
he  was  there. 

The  party  had  been  one  given  on 
Christmas  Eve,  and  as  it  was  now  two 
o'clock  in  the  morning,  the  departing 
guests  were  wishing  Mrs.  Brenton  a 
merry  Christmas.  Finally,  the  door 
closed  on  the  last  of  the  revellers,  and 
Mrs.  Brenton  stood  for  a  moment  giv 
ing  instructions  to  the  sleepy  servants  ; 
then,  with  a  tired  sigh,  she  turned  and 
went  upstairs,  Brenton  walking  by  her 
side  until  they  came  to  the  darkened 
room,  which  she  entered  on  tiptoe. 

"Now,"  said  Brenton  to  himself, 
"  she  will  arouse  me  from  this  appall 
ing  dream."  It  was  not  that  there 
was  anything  dreadful  in  the  dream 
itself,  but  the  clearness  with  which  he 
saw  everything,  and  the  fact  that  his 
mind  was  perfectly  wide  awake,  gave 


ffrom  tuabose  JBounte.  n 

him  an  uneasiness  which  he  found   im 
possible  to  shake  off. 

In  the  dim  light  from  the  hall  his 
wife  prepared  to  retire.  The  horrible 
thought  struck  Brenton  that  she  im 
agined  he  was  sleeping  soundly,  and 
was  anxious  not  to  awaken  him — for 
of  course  she  could  have  no  realization 
of  the  nightmare  he  was  in — so  once 
again  he  tried  to  communicate  with 
her.  He  spoke  her  name  over  and 
over  again,  but  she  proceeded  quietly 
with  her  preparations  for  the  night. 
At  last  she  crept  in  at  the  other  side  of 
the  bed,  and  in  a  few  moments  was 
asleep.  Once  more  Brenton  struggled 
to  awake,  but  with  no  effect.  He 
heard  the  clock  strike  three,  and  then 
four,  and  then  five,  but  there  was  no 
apparent  change  in  his  dream.  He 
feared  that  he  might  be  in  a  trance, 
from  which,  perhaps,  he  would  not 
awake  until  it  was  too  late.  Grey  day 
light  began  to  brighten  the  window, 
and  he  noticed  that  snow  was  quietly 


12  ffrom  TKabose  JSourne. 

falling  outside,  the  flakes  noiselessly 
beating  against  the  window  pane. 
Every  one  slept  late  that  morning,  but 
at  last  he  heard  the  preparations  for 
breakfast  going  on  downstairs — the 
light  clatter  of  china  on  the  table,  the 
rattle  of  the  grate  ;  and,  as  he  thought 
of  these  things,  he  found  himself  in  the 
dining-room,  and  saw  the  trim  little 
maid,  who  still  yawned  every  now  and 
then,  laying  the  plates  in  their  places. 
He  went  upstairs  again,  and  stood 
watching  the  sleeping  face  of  his  wife. 
Once  she  raised  her  hand  above  her 
head,  and  he  thought  she  was  going 
to  awake  ;  ultimately  her  eyes  opened, 
and  she  gazed  for  a  time  at  the  ceiling, 
seemingly  trying  to  recollect  the  events 
of  the  day  before. 

"  Will,"  she  said  dreamily,  "  are  you 
still  asleep?" 

There  was  no  answer  from  the  rigid 
figure  at  the  front  of  the  bed.  After  a 
few  moments  she  placed  her  hand 
quietly  over  the  sleeper's  face.  As  she 


ffrom  TDQboee  JBoutne,  13 

did  so,  her  startled  eyes  showed  that 
she  had  received  a  shock.  Instantly 
she  sat  upright  in  bed,  and  looked 
for  one  brief  second  on  the  face  of  the 
sleeper  beside  her ;  then,  with  a  shriek 
that  pierced  the  stillness  of  the  room, 
she  sprang  to  the  floor. 

"  Will !  Will !  "  she  cried,  "  speak  to 
me !  What  is  the  matter  with  you  ? 
Oh,  my  God !  my  God !  "  she  cried, 
staggering  back  from  the  bed.  Then, 
with  shriek  after  shriek,  she  ran  blindly 
through  the  hall  to  the  stairway,  and 
there  fell  fainting  on  the  floor. 


CHAPTER   II. 

WILLIAM  BRENTON  knelt  beside  the 
fallen  lady,  and  tried  to  soothe  and 
comfort  her,  but  it  was  evident  that 
she  was  insensible. 

"It  is  useless/'  said  a  voice  by  his 
side. 

Brenton  looked  up  suddenly,  and 
saw  standing  beside  him  a  stranger. 
Wondering  for  a  moment  how  he  got 
there,  and  thinking  that  after  all  it  was 
a  dream,  he  said — 

"  What  is  useless  ?     She  is  not  dead." 

"  No,"  answered  the  stranger,  "  but 
you  are.'' 

"  I  am  what  ?  "  cried  Brenton. 

"You  are  what  the  material  world 
calls  dead,  although  in  reality  you  have 
just  begun  to  live." 


ffrom  llBlbose  bourne*  15 

"  And  who  are  you  ?  "  asked  Brenton. 
"  And  how  did  you  get  in  here  ?  " 

The  other  smiled. 

"How  did  you  get  in  here?"  he 
said,  repeating  Brenton's  words. 

"I?     Why,  this  is  my  own  house/' 

"  Was,  you  mean." 

"  I  mean  that  it  is.  I  am  in  my  own 
house.  This  lady  is  my  wife." 

"  Was"  said  the  other. 

"  I  do  not  understand  you,"  cried 
Brenton,  very  much  annoyed.  "  But, 
in  any  case,  your  presence  and  your 
remarks  are  out  of  place  here." 

"  My  dear  sir,"  said  the  other,  "  I 
merely  wish  to  aid  you  and  to  explain 
to  you  anything  that  you  may  desire 
to  know  about  your  new  condition. 
You  are  now  free  from  the  incumbrance 
of  your  body.  You  have  already  had 
some  experience  of  the  additional 
powers  which  that  riddance  has  given 
you.  You  have  also,  I  am  afraid,  had 
an  inkling  of  the  fact  that  the  spiritual 
condition  has  its  limitations.  If  you 


16  afrom  Wboae  JSourne, 

desire  to  communicate  with  those 
whom  you  have  left,  I  would  strongly 
advise  you  to  postpone  the  attempt, 
and  to  leave  this  place,  where  you  will 
experience  only  pain  and  anxiety. 
Come  with  me,  and  learn  something  of 
your  changed  circumstances." 

"  I  am  in  a  dream,"  said  Brenton, 
"and  you  are  part  of  it.  I  went  to 
sleep  last  night,  and  am  still  dreaming. 
This  is  a  nightmare,  and  it  will  soon  be 
over." 

"  You  are  saying  that,"  said  the 
other,  "  merely  to  convince  yourself. 
It  is  now  becoming  apparent  to  you 
that  this  is  not  a  dream.  If  dreams 
exist,  it  was  a  dream  which  you  left, 
but  you  have  now  become  awake.  If 
you  really  think  it  is  a  dream,  then  do 
as  I  tell  you — come  with  me  and  leave 
it,  because  you  must  admit  that  this 
part  of  the  dream  is  at  least  very 
unpleasant." 

"  It  is  not  very  pleasant,"  assented 
Brenton.  As  he  spoke  the  bewildered 


ffrom  TKHbose  ^Bourne.  17 

servants  came  rushing  up  the  stairs, 
picked  up  their  fallen  mistress,  and 
laid  her  on  a  sofa.  They  rubbed  her 
hands  and  dashed  water  in  her  face. 
She  opened  her  eyes,  and  then  closed 
them  again  with  a  shudder. 

"  Sarah,"  she  cried,  "  have  I  been 
dreaming,  or  is  your  master  dead?  " 

The  two  girls  turned  pale  at  this, 
and  the  elder  of  them  went  boldly  into 
the  room  which  her  mistress  had  just 
left.  She  was  evidently  a  young 
woman  who  had  herself  under  good 
control,  but  she  came  out  sobbing, 
with  her  apron  to  her  eyes. 

"  Come,  come,"  said  the  man  who 
stood  beside  Brenton,  "haven't  you 
had  enough  of  this?  Come  with  me; 
you  can  return  to  this  house  if  you 
wish ;  "  and  together  they  passed  out 
of  the  room  into  the  crisp  air  of  Christ 
mas  morning.  But,  although  Brenton 
knew  it  must  be  cold,  he  had  no  feeling 
of  either  cold  or  warmth. 

"  There  are   a  number   of   us,"  said 


i8  ffrom  TKIlbose  36ourne* 

the  stranger  to  Brenton,  "who  take 
turns  at  watching  the  sick-bed  when  a 
man  is  about  to  die,  and  when  his 
spirit  leaves  his  body,  we  are  there  to 
explain,  or  comfort,  or  console.  Your 
death  was  so  sudden  that  we  had  no 
warning  of  it.  You  did  not  feel  ill 
before  last  night,  did  you  ?  " 

"No,"  replied  Brenton.  "I  felt 
perfectly  well  until  after  dinner  last 
night." 

"  Did  you  leave  your  aff  lirs  in 
reasonably  good  order?" 

"Yes,"  said  Brenton,  trying  t<S  recol 
lect.  "  I  think  they  will  find  every 
thing  perfectly  straight." 

"  Tell  me  a  little  of  your  history,  if 
you  do  not  mind,"  inquired  the  other; 
"  it  will  help  me  in  trying  to  initiate 
you  into  our  new  order  of  thing  'iere." 

"Well,"    replied    Brenton,  he 

wondered    at    himself    for    fa!  ^o 

easily  into  the  other's  assumpt 
he  was  a  dead  man,  "  I  was  wh        ney 
call    on  the  earth  in  reasonably  good 


3from  TDdbose  JSourne.  19 

circumstances.  My  estate  should  be 
worth  $100,000.  I  had  $75,000  insur 
ance  on  my  life,  and  if  all  that  is  paid, 
it  should  net  my  widow  not  far  from  a 
couple  of  hundred  thousand/* 

"  How  long  have  you  been  mar 
ried  ?  "  said  the  other. 

"  Only  about  six  months.  I  was 
married  last  July,  and  we  went  for  a 
trip  abroad.  We  were  married  quietly, 
and  left  almost  immediately  afterwards, 
so  we  thought,  on  our  return,  it  would 
not  be  i  bad  plan  to  give  a  Christmas 
Eve  dinner,  and  invite  some  of  our 
friends  f-  That,"  he  said,  hesitating  a 
momei  .,  "  was  last  night.  Shortly 
after  dinner,  I  began  to  feel  rather  ill, 
and  went  upstairs  to  rest  for  a  while  ; 
and  if  what  you  say  is  true,  the  first 
thing  I. knew  I  found  myself  dead." 

"  Alwe,"  corrected  the  other. 

"Well,  alive,  though  at  present  I 
feel  I  belong  more  to  the  world  I  have 
left  thaja  I  do  to  the  world  I  appear  to 
be  in.  I  must  confess,  although  you 


20  ffrom  Wbose  bourne* 

are  a  very  plausible  gentleman  to  talk 
to,  that  I  expect  at  any  moment  to 
wake  and  find  this  to  have  been  one  of 
the  most  horrible  nightmares  that  I 
ever  had  the  ill  luck  to  encounter." 

The  other  smiled. 

"  There  is  very  little  danger  of  your 
waking  up,  as  you  call  it.  Now,  I  will 
tell  you  the  great  trouble  we  have  with 
people  when  they  first  come  to  the 
spirit-land,  and  that  is  to  induce  them 
to  forget  entirely  the  world  they  have 
relinquished.  Men  whose  families  are 
in  poor  circumstances,  or  men  whose 
affairs  are  in  a  disordered  state,  find  it 
very  difficult  to  keep  from  trying  to 
set  things  right  again.  They  have  the 
feeling  that  they  can  console  or  com 
fort  those  whom  they  have  left  behind 
them,  and  it  is  often  a  long  time  before 
they  are  convinced  that  their  efforts 
are  entirely  futile,  as  well  as  very  dis 
tressing  for  themselves." 

"  Is  there,  then/*  asked  Brenton, 
"no  communication  between  this 


3from  THHbose  JSourne.  21 

world  and  the  one  that  I  have  given 
up?" 

The  other  paused  for  a  moment 
before  he  replied. 

"  I  should  hardly  like  to  say,"  he 
answered,  "  that  there  is  no  communi 
cation  between  one  world  and  the 
other ;  but  the  communication  that 
exists  is  so  slight  and  unsatisfactory, 
'that  if  you  are  sensible  you  will  see 
things  with  the  eyes  of  those  who  have 
very  much  more  experience  in  this 
world  than  you  have.  Of  course,  you 
can  go  back  there  as  much  as  you  like ; 
there  will  be  no  interference  and  no 
hindrance.  But  when  you  see  things 
going  wrong,  when  you  see  a  mistake 
about  to  be  made,  it  is  an  appalling 
thing  to  stand  there  helpless,  unable 
to  influence  those  you  love,  or  to  point 
out  a  palpable  error,  and  convince 
them  that  your  clearer  sight  sees  it  as 
such.  Of  course,  I  understand  that  it 
must  be  very  difficult  for  a  man  who* 
is  newly  married,  to  entirely  abandon. 


22  ffrom  Tldbose  JSourne. 

the  one  who  has  loved  him,  and  whom 
he  loves.  But  I  assure  you  that  if  you 
follow  the  life  of  one  who  is  as  young 
and  handsome  as  your  wife,  you  will 
find  some  one  else  supplying  the 
consolations  you  are  unable  to  bestow. 
Such  a  mission  may  lead  you  to  a 
church  where  she  is  married  to  her 
second  husband.  I  regret  to  say  that 
even  the  most  imperturbable  spirits 
are  ruffled  when  such  an  incident 
occurs.  The  wise  men  are  those  who 
appreciate  and  understand  that  they 
are  in  an  entirely  new  world,  with  new 
powers  and  new  limitations,  and  who 
govern  themselves  accordingly  from 
the  first,  as  they  will  certainly  do  later 
on." 

"  My  dear  sir,"  said  Brenton,  some 
what  offended,  "  if  what  you  say  is 
true,  and  I  am  really  a  dead  man " 

"  Alive,"  corrected  the  other. 

"Well,  alive,  then.  I  may  tell  you 
that  my  wife's  heart  is  broken.  She 
will  never  marry  again." 


ffrom  TJdbose  bourne*  23 

"Of  course,  that  is  a  subject  of 
which  you  know  a  great  deal  more  than 
I  do.  I  all  the  more  strongly  advise 
you  never  to  see  her  again.  It  is  impos 
sible  for  you  to  offer  any  consolation, 
and  the  sight  of  her  grief  and  misery 
will  only  result  in  unhappiness  for 
yourself.  Therefore,  take  my  advice. 
I  have  given  it  very  often,  and  I  assure 
you  those  who  did  not  take  it  expressed 
their  regret  afterwards.  Hold  entirely 
aloof  from  anything  relating  to  your 
former  life." 

Brenton  was  silent  for  some  mo 
ments ;  finally  he  said — 

"  I  presume  your  advice  is  well 
meant ;  but  if  things  are  as  you  state, 
then  I  may  as  well  say,  first  as  last, 
that  I  do  not  intend  to  accept  it." 

" Very  well/*  said  the  other;  "it  is 
an  experience  that  many  prefer  to  go 
through  for  themselves/5 

"  Do  you  have  names  in  this  spirit- 
land?"  asked  Brenton,  seemingly  de 
sirous  of  changing  the  subject. 


24  ffrom  Idbose  JBourne* 

"Yes,"  was  the  answer;  "we  are 
known  by  the  names  that  we  have  used 
in  the  preparatory  school  below.  My 
name  is  Ferris." 

"  And  if  I  wish  to  find  you  here, 
how  do  I  set  about  it?" 

"  The  wish  is  sufficient/'  answered 
Ferris.  "  Merely  wish  to  be  with  me, 
and  you  are  with  me." 

"  Good  gracious  !  "  cried  Brenton, 
"  is  locomotion  so  easy  as  that?" 

"  Locomotion  is  very  easy.  I  do 
not  think  anything  could  be  easier  than 
it  is,  and  I  do  not  think  there  could  be 
any  improvement  in  that  matter." 

"Are  there  matters  here,  then,  that 
you  think  could  be  improved?" 

"  As  to  that  I  shall  not  say.  Per 
haps  you  will  be  able  to  give  your  own 
opinion  before  you  have  lived  here 
much  longer." 

"Taking  it  all  in  all,"  said  Brenton, 
"  do  you  think  the  spirit-land  is  to  be 
preferred  to  the  one  we  have  left?" 

"  I  like  it  better,"  said  Ferris,  "  al- 


ffrom  TKHbose  Bourne*  25 

though  I  presume  there  are  some  who 
do  not.  There  are  many  advantages  ; 
and  then,  again,  there  are  many — well, 
I  would  not  say  disadvantages,  but 
still  some  people  consider  them  such. 
We  are  free  from  the  pangs  of  hunger 
or  cold,  and  have  therefore  no  need 
of  money,  and  there  is  no  necessity  for 
the  rush  and  the  worry  of  the  world 
below." 

"And  how  about  heaven  and  helP" 
said  Brenton.  "Are  those  localities 
all  a  myth  ?  Is  there  nothing  of  pun 
ishment  and  nothing  of  reward  in  this 
spirit-land  ?  " 

There  was  no  answer  to  this,  and 
when  Brenton  looked  around  he  found 
that  his  companion  had  departed. 


CHAPTER  III. 

WILLIAM  BRENTON  pondered  long 
on  the  situation.  He  would  have 
known  better  how  to  act  if  he  could 
have  been  perfectly  certain  that  he  was 
not  still  the  victim  of  a  dream.  How 
ever,  of  one  thing  there  was  no  doubt 
— namely,  that  it  was  particularly  har 
rowing  to  see  what  he  had  seen  in  his 
own  house.  If  it  were  true  that  he  was 
dead,  he  said  to  himself,  was  not  the 
plan  outlined  for  him  by  Ferris  very 
much  the  wiser  course  to  adopt  ?  He 
stood  now  in  one  of  the  streets  of  the 
city  so  familiar  to  him.  People  passed 
and  repassed  him — men  and  women 
whom  he  had  known  in  life — but  no 
body  appeared  to  see  him.  He  re 
solved,  if  possible,  to  solve  the  problem 


Stem  TIClbose  JBourne.  27 

uppermost  in  his  mind,  and  learn 
whether  or  not  he  could  communicate 
with  an  inhabitant  of  the  world  he  had 
left.  He  paused  for  a  moment  to  con 
sider  the  best  method  of  doing  this. 
Then  he  remembered  one  of  his  most 
confidential  friends  and  advisers,  and  at 
once  wished  himself  at  his  office.  He 
found  the  office  closed,  but  went  in  to 
wait  for  his  friend.  Occupying  the  time 
in  thinking  over  his  strange  situation, 
he  waited  long,  and  only  when  the  bells 
began  to  ring  did  he  remember  it  was 
Christmas  forenoon,  and  that  his  friend 
would  not  be  at  the  office  that  day. 
The  next  moment  he  wished  himself 
at  his  friend's  house,  but  he  was  as  un 
successful  as  at  the  office ;  the  friend 
was  not  at  home.  The  household, 
however,  was  in  great  commotion,  and. 
listening  to  what  was  said,  he  found 
that  the  subject  of  conversation  was 
his  own  death,  and  he  learned  that 
his  friend  had  gone  to  the  Brenton 
residence  as  soon  as  he  heard  the 


23  ffrom  TKHbose  Bourne. 

startling  news  of  Christmas  morn- 
ing. 

Once  more  Brenton  paused,  and  did 
not  know  what  to  do.  He  went  again 
into  the  street.  Everything  seemed  to 
lead  him  toward  his  own  home.  Al 
though  he  had  told  Ferris  that  he  did 
not  intend  to  take  his  advice,  yet  as  a 
sensible  man  he  saw  that  the  admoni 
tion  was  well  worth  considering,  and  if 
he  could  once  become  convinced  that 
there  was  no  communication  possible 
between  himself  and  those  he  had 
left ;  if  he  could  give  them  no  comfort 
and  no  cheer ;  if  he  could  see  the  things 
which  they  did  not  see,  and  yet  be 
unable  to  give  them  warning,  he 
realized  that  he  would  merely  be  add 
ing  to  his  own  misery,  without  alleviat 
ing  the  troubles  of  others. 

He  wished  he  knew  where  to  find 
Ferris,  so  that  he  might  have  another 
talk  with  him.  The  man  impressed 
him  as  being  exceedingly  sensible. 
No  sooner,  however,  had  he  wished 


ffcom  T&lbose  Bourne.  29 

for  the  company  of  Mr.  Ferris  than 
he  found  himself  beside  that  gentle 
man. 

"  By  George  !  "  he  said  in  astonish 
ment,  "you  are  just  the  man  I  wanted 
to  see." 

"  Exactly/'  said  Ferris  ;  "  that  is  the 
reason  you  do  see  me/' 

"  I  have  been  thinking  over  what 
you  said,"  continued  the  other,  "  and 
it  strikes  me  that  after  all  your  advice 
is  sensible." 

"Thank  you,"  replied  Ferris,  with 
something  like  a  smile  on  his  face. 

"  But  there  is  one  thing  I  want  to  be 
perfectly  certain  about.  I  want  to 
know  whether  it  is  not  possible  for  me 
to  communicate  with  my  friends. 
Nothing  will  settle  that  doubt  in  my 
mind  except  actual  experience." 

"§And  have  you  not  had  experience 
enough  ?  "  asked  Ferris. 

"  Well,"  replied  the  other,  hesita 
ting,  "  I  have  had  some  experience,  but 
it  seems  to  me  that,  if  I  encounter  an 


30  ffrom  IKIlboee  JBourne. 

old  friend,  I  could  somehow  make  my 
self  felt  by  him.'* 

"In  that  case,"  answered  Ferris,  "if 
nothing  will  convince  you  but  an  ac 
tual  experiment,  why  don't  you  go  to 
some  of  your  old  friends  and  try 
what  you  can  do  with  them?  " 

"  I  have  just  been  to  the  office  and 
to  the  residence  of  one  of  my  old 
friends.  I  found  at  his  residence  that 
he  had  gone  to  my  " — Brenton  paused 
for  a  moment — "  former  home.  Every 
thing  seems  to  lead  me  there,  and  yet, 
if  I  take  your  advice,  I  must  avoid 
that  place  of  all  others." 

"  I  would  at  present,  if  I  were  you," 
said  Ferris.  "  Still,  why  not  try  it 
with  any  of  the  passers-by  ?  " 

Brenton  looked  around  him.  People 
were  passing  and  repassing  where  the 
two  stood  talking  with  each  other. 
"  Merry  Christmas  "  was  the  word  on 
all  lips.  Finally  Brenton  said,  with  a 
look  of  uncertainty  on  his  face — 

"  My  dear  fellow,  I  can't  talk  to  any 


afrom  IKHbose  JSoucne*  31 

of  these  people.  I  don't  know 
them." 

Ferris  laughed  at  this,  and  replied — 

"I  don't  think  you  will  shock  them 
very  much  ;  just  try  it." 

"  Ah,  here's  a  friend  of  mine.  You 
wait  a  moment,  and  I  will  accost 
him."  Approaching  him,  Brenton 
held  out  his  hand  and  spoke,  but  the 
traveller  paid  no  attention.  He 
passed  by  as  one  who  had  seen  or 
heard  nothing. 

"  I  assure  you,"  said  Ferris,  as  he 
noticed  the  look  of  disappointment  on 
the  other's  face,  "you  will  meet  with 
a  similiar  experience,  however  much 
you  try.  You  know  the  old  saying 
about  one  not  being  able  to  have  his 
cake  and  eat  it  too.  You  can't  have  the 
privileges  of  this  world  and  those  of 
the  world  you  left  as  well.  I  think, 
taking  it  all  in  all,  you  should  rest 
content,  although  it  always  hurts  those 
who  have  left  the  other  world  not 
to  be  able  to  communicate  with  their 


32  jfrom  TjClboee  bourne* 

friends,  and  at  least  assure  them  of 
their  present  welfare." 

"  It  does  seem  to  me/*  replied  Bren- 
ton,  "that  would  be  a  great  consola 
tion,  both  for  those  who  are  here  and 
those  who  are  left." 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  about  that," 
answered  the  other.  "  After  all,  what 
does  life  in  the  other  world  amount 
to  ?  It  is  merely  a  preparation  for 
this.  It  is  of  so  short  a  space,  as  com 
pared  with  the  life  we  live  here,  that 
it  is  hardly  worth  while  to  interfere 
with  it  one  way  or  another.  By  the 
time  you  are  as  long  here  as  I  have 
been,  you  will  realize  the  truth  of 
this." 

"Perhaps  I  shall,"  said  Brenton, 
with  a  sigh  ;  "  but,  meanwhile,  what 
am  I  to  do  with  myself  ?  I  feel  like 
the  man  who  has  been  all  his  life  in 
active  business,  and  who  suddenly  re 
solves  to  enjoy  himself  doing  nothing. 
That  sort  of  thing  seems  to  kill  a 
great  number  of  men,  especially  if 


ffrom  TICtbose  JBourne.  33 

they  put  off  taking  a  rest  until  too 
late,  as  most  of  us  do." 

"  Well,"  said  Ferris,  "  there  is  no  ne 
cessity  of  your  being  idle  here,  I 
assure  you.  But  before  you  lay  out 
any  work  for  yourself,  let  me  ask  you 
if  there  is  not  some  interesting  part  of 
the  world  that  you  would  like  to 
visit?" 

"  Certainly  ;  I  have  seen  very  little 
of  the  world.  That  is  one  of  my  re 
grets  at  leaving  it." 

"  Bless  me,"  said  the  other,  "you 
haven't  left  it." 

"  Why,  I  thought  you  said  I  was  a 
dead  man  ?  " 

"  On  the  contrary,"  replied  his  com 
panion,  "  I  have  several  times  insisted 
that  you  have  just  begun  to  live. 
Now  where  shall  we  spend  the 
day?  " 

"  How  would  London  do?" 

"  I  don't  think  it  would  do  ;  London 
is  apt  to  be  a  little  gloomy  at  this 
time  of  the  year.  But  what  do  you 


34  ffrom  Tldbose  JBourne. 

say  to  Naples,  or  Japan,  or,  if  you 
don't  wish  to  go  out  of  the  United 
States,  Yellowstone  Park  ?  " 

"Can  we  reach  any  of  those  places 
before  the  day  is  over?  "  asked  Bren- 
ton,  dubiously. 

"  Well,  I  will  soon  show  you  how 
we  manage  all  that.  Just  wish  to  ac 
company  me,  and  I  will  take  you  the 
rest  of  the  way.'* 

"How  would  Venice  do?"  said 
Brenton.  "  I  didn't  see  half  as  much1 
of  that  city  as  I  wanted  to." 

"  Very  well,"  replied  his  companion, 
•"  Venice  it  is  ;  "  and  the  American  city 
in  which  they  stood  faded  away  from 
them,  and  before  Brenton  could  make 
up  his  mind  exactly  what  was  happen 
ing,  he  found  himself  walking  with 
his  comrade  in  St.  Mark's  Square. 

"Well,  for  rapid  transit,"  said  Bren 
ton,  "  this  beats  anything  I've  ever 
had  any  idea  of ;  but  it  increases  the 
feeling  that  I  am  in  a  dream." 

"  You'll    soon  get    used  to  it,"  an- 


ffrom  Tidbose  Bourne*  35 

swered  Ferris;  "and,  when  you  do, 
the  cumbersome  methods  of  travel  in 
the  world  itself  will  show  themselves 
in  their  right  light.  Hello  !  "  he  cried, 
"  here's  a  man  whom  I  should  like  you 
to  meet.  By  the  way,  I  either  don't 
know  your  name  or  I  have  forgotten 
it." 

"William  Brenton,"  answered  the 
other. 

"  Mr.  Speed,  I  want  to  introduce  you 
to  Mr.  Brenton." 

"Ah,"  said  Speed,  cordially,  "a  new 
comer.  One  of  your  victims,  Ferris?" 

"  Say  one  of  his  pupils,  rather/* 
answered  Brenton. 

"  Well,  it  is  pretty  much  the  same 
thing,"  said  Speed.  "  How  long  have 
you  been  with  us,  and  how  do  you  like 
the  country?" 

"  You  see,  Mr.  Brenton,"  interrupted 
Ferris,  "John  Speed  was  a  newspaper 
man,  and  he  must  ask  strangers  how 
they  like  the  country.  He  has  inquired 
so  oftenwhile  interviewing  foreigners  for 


36  ffrom  TKHboae  Bourne. 

his  paper  that  now  he  cannot  abandon 
his  old  phrase.  Mr.  Brenton  has  been 
with  us  but  a  short  time,"  continued 
Ferris,  "  and  so  you  know,  Speed,  you 
can  hardly  expect  him  to  answer  your 
inevitable  question." 

"  What  part  of  the  country  are  you 
from  ?  "  asked  Speed. 

"  Cincinnati,"  answered  Brenton,  feel 
ing  almost  as  if  he  were  an  American 
tourist  doing  the  continent  of  Europe. 

"  Cincinnati,  eh  ?  Well,  I  congratu 
late  you.  I  do  not  know  any  place  in 
America  that  I  would  sooner  die  in,  as 
they  call  it,  than  Cincinnati.  You  see, 
I  am  a  Chicago  man  myself." 

Brenton  did  not  like  the  jocular 
familiarity  of  the  newspaper  man,  and 
found  himself  rather  astonished  to 
learn  that  in  the  spirit-world  there  were 
likes  and  dislikes,  just  as  on  earth. 

"  Chicago  is  a  very  enterprising  city," 
he  said,  in  a  non-committal  way. 

"  Chicago,  my  dear  sir,"  said  Speed, 
earnestly,  "  is  the  city.  You  will  see 


ffrom  TKHbose  Bourne*  37 

that  Chicago  is  going  to  be  the  great 
city  of  the  world  before  you  are  a  hun 
dred  years  older.  By  the  way,  Ferris," 
said  the  Chicago  man,  suddenly  rec 
ollecting  something,  "  I  have  got 
Sommers  over  here  with  me." 

"Ah  !  "  said  Ferris;  "  doing  him  any 
good?" 

"  Well,  precious  little,  as  far  as  I  can 
see." 

"  Perhaps  it  would  interest  Mr.  Bren- 
ton  to  meet  him,"  said  Ferris.  "  I 
think,  Brenton,  you  asked  me  a  while 
ago  if  there  was  any  hell  here,  or  any 
punishment.  Mr.  Speed  can  show  you 
a  man  in  hell." 

"  Really  ?  "  asked  Brenton. 

"  Yes,"  said  Speed  ;  "  I  think  if  ever 
a  man  was  in  misery,  he  is.  The 
trouble  with  Sommers  was  this.  He- 
well,  he  died  of  dilirium  tremens,  and 
so,  of  course,  you  know  what  the  mat 
ter  was.  Sommers  had  drunk  Chicago 
whiskey  for  thirty-five  years  straight 
along,  and  never  added  to  it  the  addi- 


38  ffrom  Whose  JSourne* 

tional  horror  of  Chicago  water.  You 
see  what  his  condition  became,  both 
physical  and  mental.  Many  people 
tried  to  reform  Sommers,  because  he 
was  really  a  brilliant  man  ;  but  it  was 
no  use.  Thirst  for  liquor  had  become 
a  disease  with  him,  and  from  the  men 
tal  part  of  that  disease,  although  his 
physical  yearning  is  now  gone  of  course, 
he  suffers.  Sommers  would  give  his 
whole  future  for  one  glass  of  good  old 
Kentucky  whisky.  He  sees  it  on 
the  counters,  he  sees  men  drink  it,  and 
he  stands  beside  them  in  agony. 
That's  why  I  brought  him  over  here. 
I  thought  that  he  wouldn't  see  the 
color  of  whisky  as  it  sparkles  in  the 
glass  ;  but  now  he  is  in  the  Cafe  Quadra 
watching  men  drink.  You  may  see 
him  sitting  there  with  all  the  agony  of 
unsatisfied  desire  gleaming  from  his 
face." 

"  And  what  do  you  do  with  a  man 
like  that  ?  "  asked  Brenton. 

"  Do  ?     Well,  to  tell  the  truth,  there 


ffrom  TXUbose  bourne.  39 

is  nothing  to  do.  I  took  him  away 
from  Chicago,  hoping  to  ease  his 
trouble  a  little  ;  but  it  has  had  no  ef 
fect." 

"  It  will  come  out  all  right  by-and- 
by,"  said  Ferris,  who  noticed  the 
pained  look  on  Brenton's  face.  "  It  is 
the  period  of  probation  that  he  has  to 
pass  through.  It  will  wear  off.  He 
merely  goes  through  the  agonies  he 
would  have  suffered  on  earth  if  he  had 
suddenly  been  deprived  of  his  favorite 
intoxicant.'* 

"Well,"  said  Speed,  "  you  won't 
come  with  me,  then  ?  All  right,  good 
bye.  I  hope  to  see  you  again,  Mr. 
Brenton,"  and  with  that  they  sepa 
rated. 

Brenton  spent  two  or  three  days  in 
Venice,  but  all  the  time  the  old  home 
hunger  was  upon  him.  He  yearned 
for  news  of  Cincinnati.  He  wanted  to 
be  back,  and  several  times  the  wish 
brought  him  there,  but  he  instantly 
returned.  At  last  he  said  to  Ferris — 


40  ffrom  Wbose  bourne. 

"  I  am  tired.  I  must  go  home.  I 
have  got  to  see  how  things  are  going." 

"  I  wouldn't  if  I  were  you,"  replied 
Ferris. 

"  No,  I  know  you  wouldn't.  Your 
temperament  is  indifferent.  I  would 
rather  be  miserable  with  knowledge 
than  happy  in  ignorance.  Good-bye." 

It  was  evening  when  he  found  him 
self  in  Cincinnati.  The  weather  was 
bright  and  clear,  and  apparently  cold. 
Men's  feet  crisped  on  the  frozen  pave 
ment,  and  the  streets  had  that  welcome, 
familiar  look  which  they  always  have 
to  the  returned  traveller  when  he 
reaches  the  city  he  calls  his  home. 
The  newsboys  were  rushing  through 
the  streets  yelling  their  papers  at  the 
top  of  their  voices.  He  heard  them, 
but  paid  little  attention. 

"All  about  the  murder!  Latest 
edition  !  All  about  the  poison  case  !  " 

He  felt  that  he  must  have  a  glimpse 
at  a  paper,  and,  entering  the  office  of 
an  hotel  where  a  man  was  reading  one, 


ffrom  TDdbose  JSourne*  41 

he  glanced  over  his  shoulder  at  the 
page  before  him,  and  was  horror- 
stricken  to  see  the  words  in  startling 
headlines — 

THE  BRENTON  MURDER. 

The  Autopsy  shows  that  Morphine   was   the  Poison 
tised. 

Enough  found  to  have  killed  a  Dozen  Men. 
Mrs.  Brenion  arrested  for  Committing  the  Hor 
rible  Deed. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

FOR  a  moment  Brenton  was  so  be 
wildered  and  amazed  at  the  awful 
headlines  which  he  read,  that  he  could 
hardly  realize  what  had  taken  place. 
The  fact  that  he  had  been  poisoned, 
although  it  gave  him  a  strange  sensa 
tion,  did  not  claim  his  attention  as 
much  as  might  have  been  thought. 
Curiously  enough  he  was  more  shocked 
at  finding  himself,  as  it  were,  the  talk 
of  the  town,  the  central  figure  of  a 
great  newspaper  sensation.  But  the 
thing  that  horrified  him  was  the  fact 
that  his  wife  had  been  arrested  for  his 
murder.  His  first  impulse  was  to  go 
to  her  at  once,  but  he  next  thought  it 
better  to  read  what  the  paper  said 
about  the  matter,  so  as  to  become 


ffrom  TDdbose  bourne*  43 

possessed  of  all  the  facts.  The  head 
lines,  he  said  to  himself,  often  exagger 
ated  things,  and  there  was  a  possibility 
that  the  body  of  the  article  would  not 
bear  out  the  flaming  announcement 
above  it.  But  as  he  read  on  and  on, 
the  situation  seemed  to  become  more 
and  more  appalling.  He  saw  that  his 
friends  had  been  suspicious  of  his  sud 
den  death,  and  had  insisted  on  a  post 
mortem  examination.  That  examina 
tion  had  been  conducted  by  three  of 
the  most  eminent  physicians  of  Cincin 
nati,  and  the  three  doctors  had  practi 
cally  agreed  that  the  deceased,  in  the 
language  of  the  verdict,  had  come  to 
his  death  through  morphia  poisoning, 
and  the  coroner's  jury  had  brought  in 
a  verdict  that  "  the  said  William  Bren- 
ton  had  been  poisoned  by  some  per 
son  unknown."  Then  the  article  went 
on  to  state  how  suspicion  had  gradually 
fastened  itself  upon  his  wife,  and  at 
last  her  arrest  had  been  ordered.  The 
arrest  had  taken  place  that  day. 


44  ffrom  Whose  Bourne. 

After  reading  this,  Brenton  was  in 
an  agony  of  mind.  He  pictured  his 
dainty  and  beautiful  wife  in  a  stone 
cell  in  the  city  prison.  He  foresaw 
the  horrors  of  the  public  trial,  and  the 
deep  grief  and  pain  which  the  news 
paper  comments  on  the  case  would 
cause  to  a  woman  educated  and  re 
fined.  Of  course,  Brenton  had  not 
the  slightest  doubt  in  his  own  mind 
about  the  result  of  the  trial.  His  wife 
would  be  triumphantly  acquitted  ;  but, 
all  the  same,  the  terrible  suspense 
which  she  must  suffer  in  the  mean 
while  would  not  be  compensated  for 
by  the  final  verdict  of  the  jury. 

Brenton  at  once  went  to  the  jail, 
and  wandered  through  that  gloomy 
building,  searching  for  his  wife.  At 
last  he  found  her,  but  it  was  in  a  very 
comfortable  room  in  the  sheriff's 
residence.  The  terror  and  the  trials 
of  the  last  few  days  had  aged  her  per 
ceptibly,  and  it  cut  Brenton  to  the 
heart  to  think  that  he  stood  there 


fftom  TKHbose  bourne*  45 

before  her,  and  could  not  by  any 
means  say  a  soothing  word  that  she 
would  understand.  That  she  had 
wept  many  bitter  tears  since  the  [terri 
ble  Christmas  morning  was  evident ; 
there  were  dark  circles  under  her 
beautiful  eyes  that  told  of  sleepless 
nights.  She  sat  in  a  comfortable  arm 
chair,  facing  the  window,  and  looked 
steadily  out  at  the  dreary  winter  scene 
with  eyes  that  apparently  saw  nothing. 
Her  hands  lay  idly  on  her  lap,  and 
now  and  then  she  caught  her  breath 
in  a  way  that  was  half  a  sob  and  half  a 
gasp. 

Presently  the  sheriff  himself  entered 
the  room. 

"Mrs.  Brenton,"  he  said,  "there  is  a 
gentleman  here  who  wrishes  to  see 
you.  Mr.  Roland,  he  tells  me  his 
name  is,  an  old  friend  of  yours.  Do 
you  care  to  see  any  one?" 

The  lady  turned  her  head  slowly 
round,  and  looked  at  the  sheriff  for  a 
moment,  seemingly  not  understanding 


46  ffrom  inabose  JSourne, 

what  he  said.  Finally  she  answered, 
dreamily — 

"Roland?  Oh,  Stephen!  Yes,  I 
shall  be  very  glad  to  see  him.  Ask 
him  to  come  in,  please." 

The  next  moment  Stephen  Roland 
entered,  and  somehow  the  fact  that  he 
had  come  to  console  Mrs.  Brenton  did 
not  at  all  please  the  invisible  man  who 
stood  between  them. 

"  My  dear  Mrs.  Brenton,"  began 
Roland,  "  I  hope  you  are  feeling  better 
to-day?  Keep  up  your  courage,  and 
be  brave.  It  is  only  for  a  very  short 
time.  I  have  retained  the  noted  [crim 
inal  lawyers,  Benham  and  Brown,  for 
the  defence.  You  could  not  possibly 
have  better  men." 

At  the  word  "  criminal  "  Mrs.  Bren 
ton  shuddered. 

"  Alice,"  continued  Roland,  sitting 
down  near  her,  and  drawing  his  chair 
closer  to  her,  "  tell  me  that  you  will 
not  lose  your  courage.  I  want  you  to 
be  brave,  for  the  sake  of  your  friends." 


ffrom  Wbose  JBourne.  47 

He  took  her  listless  hand  in  his  own, 
and  she  did  not  withdraw  it. 

Brenton  felt  passing  over  him  the 
pangs  of  impotent  rage,  as  he  saw  this 
act  on  the  part  of  Roland. 

Roland  had  been  an  unsuccessful 
suitor  for  the  hand  which  he  now  held 
in  his  own,  and  Brenton  thought  it  the 
worst  possible  taste,  to  say  the  least, 
that  he  should  take  advantage  now  of 
her  terrible  situation  to  ingratiate  him 
self  into  her  favor. 

The  nearest  approach  to  a  quarrel 
that  Brenton  and  his  wife  had  had 
during  their  short  six  months  of  wed 
ded  life  was  on  the  subject  of  the  man 
who  now  held  her  hand  in  his  own.  It 
made  Brenton  impatient  to  think  that 
a  woman  with  all  her  boasted  insight 
into  character,  her  instincts  as  to  what 
was  right  and  what  was  wrong,  had 
such  little  real  intuition  that  she  did 
not  see  into  the  character  of  the  man 
whom  they  were  discussing ;  but  a 
woman  never  thinks  it  a  crime  for  a 


48  ffrom  "CUlbose  Bourne* 

man  to  have  been  in  love  with  her, 
whatever  opinion  of  that  man  her  hus 
band  may  hold. 

"  It  is  awful !  awful !  awful  !  "  mur 
mured  the  poor  lady,  as  the  tears  again 
rose  to  her  eyes. 

"  Of  course  it  is,"  said  Roland  ;  "  it 
is  particularly  awful  that  they  should 
accuse  you,  of  all  persons  in  the  world, 
of  this  so-called  crime.  For  my  part  I 
do  not  believe  that  he  was  poisoned  at 
all,  but  we  will  soon  straighten  things 
out.  Benham  and  Brown  will  give  up 
everything  and  devote  their  whole 
attention  to  this  case  until*it  is  finished. 
Everything  will  be  done  that  money  or 
friends  can  do,  and  all  that  we  ask  is 
that  you  keep  up  your  courage,  and  do 
not  be  downcast  with  the  seeming 
awfulness  of  the  situation." 

Mrs.  Brenton  wept  silently,  but 
made  no  reply.  It  was  evident,  how 
ever,  that  she  was  consoled  by  the 
words  and  the  presence  of  her  visitor. 
Strange  as  it  may  appear,  this  fact 


3from  IKftbose  JSourne,  49 

enraged  Brenton,  although  he  had  gone 
there  for  the  very  purpose  of  cheering 
and  comforting  his  wife.  All  the  bit 
terness  he  had  felt  before  against  his 
former  rival  was  revived,  and  his  rage 
was  the  more  agonizing  because  it  was 
inarticulate.  Then  there  flashed  over 
him  Ferris's  sinister  advice  to  leave 
things  alone  in  the  world  that  he  had 
left.  He  felt  that  he  could  stand  this 
no  longer,  and  the  next  instant  he 
found  himself  again  in  the  wintry 
streets  of  Cincinnati. 

The  name  of  the  lawyers,  Benham 
and  Brown,  kept  repeating  itself  in  his 
mind,  and  he  resolved  to  go  to  their 
office  and  hear,  if  he  could,  what  prep 
arations  were  being  made  for  the 
defence  of  a  woman  whom  he  knew  to 
be  innocent.  He  found,  when  he  got 
to  the  office  of  these  noted  lawyers, 
that  the  two  principals  were  locked  in 
their  private  room  ;  and  going  there, 
he  found  them  discussing  the  case  with 
the  coolness  and  impersonal  feeling 


50  fftom  Wbose  Bourne. 

that  noted  lawyers  have,  even  when 
speaking  of  issues  that  involve  life  or 
death. 

"Yes,"  Benham  was  saying,  "  I  think 
that,  unless  anything  new  turns  up, 
that  is  the  best  line  of  defence  we  can 
adopt." 

"  What  do  you  think  might  turn 
up  ?  "  asked  Brown. 

"Well,  you  can  never  tell  in  these 
cases.  They  may  find  something  else 
— they  may  find  the  poison,  for  instance, 
or  the  package  that  contained  it.  Per 
haps  a  druggist  will  remember  having 
sold  it  to  this  woman,  and  then,  of 
course,  we  shall  have  to  change  our 
plans.  I  need  not  say  that  it  is  strictly 
necessary  in  this  case  to  give  out  no 
opinions  whatever  to  newspaper  men. 
The  papers  will  be  full  of  rumors,  and 
it  is  just  as  well  if  we  can  keep  our  line 
of  defence  hidden  until  the  time  for 
action  comes." 

"  Still,"  said  Brown,  who  was  the 
younger  partner,  "  it  is  as  well  to  keep 


ffrom  lidbose  bourne.  51 

in  with  the  newspaper  fellows  ;  they'll 
be  here  as  soon  as  they  find  we  have 
taken  charge  of  the  defence/' 

"  Well,  I  have  no  doubt  you  can 
deal  with  them  in  such  a  way  as  to 
give  them  something  to  write  up,  and 
yet  not  disclose  anything  we  do  not 
wish  known." 

"  I  think  you  can  trust  me  to  do 
that,"  said  Brown,  with  a  self-satisfied 
air. 

"  I  shall  leave  that  part  of  the  mat 
ter  entirely  in  your  hands,"  replied 
Benham.  "  It  is  better  not  to  dupli 
cate  or  mix  matters,  and  if  any  news 
paper  man  comes  to  see  me  I  will  refer 
him  to  you.  I  will  say  I  know  noth 
ing  of  the  case  whatever." 

"  Very  well,"  answered  Brown. 
"  Now,  between  ourselves,  what  do 
you  think  of  the  case?" 

"  Oh,  it  will  make  a  great  sensation. 
I  think  it  will  probably  be  one  of  the 
most  talked-of  cases  that  we  have  ever 
been  connected  with." 


52  ffrom  lUJlbose  JSourne* 

"  Yes,  but  what  do  you  think  of  her 
guilt  or  innocence?  " 

"  As  to  that,"  said  Benham,  calmly, 
"  I  haven't  the  slightest  doubt.  She 
murdered  him/' 

As  he  said  this,  Brenton,  forgetting 
himself  for  a  moment,  sprang  forward 
as  if  to  strangle  the  lawyer.  The 
statement  Benham  had  made  seemed 
the  most  appalling  piece  of  treachery. 
That  men  should  take  a  woman's 
money  for  defending  her,  and  actually 
engage  in  a  case  when  they  believed 
their  client  guilty,  appeared  to  Brenton 
simply  infamous. 

"  I  agree  with  you,"  said  Brown. 
"  Of  course  she  was  the  only  one  to 
benefit  by  his  death.  The  simple  fool 
willed  everything  to  her,  and  she  knew 
it ;  and  his  doing  so  is  the  more 
astounding  when  you  remember  he 
was  quite  well  aware  that  she  had  a 
former  lover  whom  she  would  gladly 
have  married  if  he  had  been  as  rich  as 
Brenton.  The  supreme  idiocy  of  some 


3from  TXUbose  JSourne*  55 

men  as  far  as  their  wives  are  concerned 
is  something  awful." 

"Yes,"  answered  Benham,  "it  is. 
But  I  tell  you,  Brown,  she  is  no  ordi 
nary  woman.  The  very  conception  of 
that  murder  had  a  stroke  of  originality 
about  it  that  I  very  much  admire.  I 
do  not  remember  anything  like  it  in 
the  annals  of  crime.  It  is  the  true 
way  in  which  a  murder  should  be  com 
mitted.  The  very  publicity  of  the  oc 
casion  was  a  safeguard.  Think  of 
poisoning  a  man  at  a  dinner  that  he 
has  given  himself,  in  the  midst  of  a 
score  of  friends.  I  tell  you  that  there 
was  a  dash  of  bravery  about  it  that 
commands  my  admiration.'' 

"  Do  you  imagine  Roland  had  any 
thing  to  do  with  it  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  had  my  doubts  about  that 
at  first,  but  I  think  he  is  innocent,  al 
though  from  what  I  know  of  the  man 
he  will  not  hesitate  to  share  the  pro 
ceeds  of  the  crime.  You  mark  my 
words,  they  will  be  married  within  a 


54  ffrom  Wbose  Bourne* 

year  from  now  if  she  is  acquitted.  I 
believe  Roland  knows  her  to  be  guilty." 
"  I  thought  as  much,"  said  Brown, 
*"  by  his  actions  here,  and  by  some  re 
marks  he  let  drop.  Anyhow,  our 
•credit  in  the  affair  will  be  all  the 
greater  if  we  succeed  in  getting  her 
off.  Yes/*  he  continued,  rising  and 
pushing  back  his  chair,  "  Madam  Bren- 
ton  is  a  murderess.' 


CHAPTER  V. 

BRENTON  found  himself  once  more 
in  the  streets  of  Cincinnati,  in  a  state 
of  mind  that  can  hardly  be  described. 
Rage  and  grief  struggled  for  the  mas 
tery,  and  added  to  the  tumult  of  these 
passions  was  the  uncertainty  as  to 
what  he  should  do,  or  what  he  could 
do.  He  could  hardly  ask  the  advice 
of  Ferris  again,  for  his  whole  trouble 
arose  from  his  neglect  of  the  counsel 
that  gentleman  had  already  given  him. 
In  his  new  sphere  he  did  not  know 
where  to  turn.  He  found  himself 
wondering  whether  in  the  spirit-land 
there  was  any  firm  of  lawyers  who 
could  advise  him,  and  he  remembered 
then  how  singularly  ignorant  he  was 
regarding  the  conditions  of  existence 


56  ffrom  Wbose  Bourne. 

in  the  world  to  which  he  now  be 
longed.  However,  he  felt  that  he 
must  consult  with  somebody,  and  Fer 
ris  was  the  only  one  to  whom  he  could 
turn.  A  moment  later  he  was  face  to 
face  with  him. 

"  Mr.  Ferris/'  he  said,  "  I  am  in  the 
most  grievous  trouble,  and  I  come  to 
you  in  the  hope  that,  if  you  cannot 
help  me,  you  can  at  least  advise  me 
what  to  do." 

"  If  your  trouble  has  come,"  an^ 
swered  Ferris,  with  a  shade  of  irony  in 
his  voice,  "  through  following  the  ad 
vice  that  I  have  already  given  you,  I 
shall  endeavor,  as  well  as  I  am  able,  to 
help  you  out  of  it." 

"  You  know  very  well,"  cried  Bren- 
ton,  hotly,  "  that  my  whole  trouble 
has  occurred  through  neglecting  your 
advice,  or,  at  least,  through  deliber 
ately  not  following  it.  I  could  not 
follow  it." 

"  Very  well,  then,"  said  Ferris,  "  I 
am  not  surprised  that  you  are  in  a  diffi- 


ffrom  Wbo0e  bourne.  57 

culty.  You  must  remember  that  such 
a  crisis  is  an  old  story  with  us  here/' 

"  But,  my  dear  sir,"  said  Brenton, 
"  look  at  the  appalling  condition  of 
things,  the  knowledge  of  which  has 
just  come  to  me.  It  seems  I  was 
poisoned,  but  of  course  that  doesn't 
matter.  I  feel  no  resentment  against 
the  wretch  who  did  it.  But  the  terri 
ble  thing  is  that  my  wife  has  been  ar 
rested  for  the  crime,  and  I  have  just 
learned  that  her  own  lawyers  actually 
believe  her  guilty." 

"  That  fact,"  said  Ferris,  calmly, 
"  will  not  interfere  with  their  eloquent 
pleading  when  the  case  comes  to  trial." 

Brenton  glared  at  the  man  who  was 
taking  things  so  coolly,  and  who 
proved  himself  so  unsympathetic  ;  but 
an  instant  after  he  realized  the  futility 
of  quarrelling  with  the  only  person 
who  could  give  him  advice,  so  he  con 
tinued,  with  what  patience  he  could 
command — 

"  The  situation  is  this  :  My  wife  has 


58  ffrom  Wbose  JBourne. 

been  arrested  for  the  crime  of  murder 
ing  me.  She  is  now  in  the  custody  of 
the  sheriff.  Her  trouble  and  anxiety 
of  mind  are  fearful  to  contemplate." 

"  My  dear  sir,"  said  Ferris,  "  there  is 
no  reason  why  you  or  anybody  else 
should  contemplate  it." 

"  How  can  you  talk  in  that  cold 
blooded  way  ?  "  cried  Brenton,  indig 
nantly.  "  Could  you  see  your  wife, 
or  any  one  you  held  dear,  incarcerated 
for  a  dreadful  crime,  and  yet  remain 
calm  and  collected,  as  you  now  appear 
to  be  when  you  hear  of  another's  mis 
fortune  ?  " 

"  My  dear  fellow,"  said  Ferris,  "  of 
course  it  is  not  to  be  expected  that 
one  who  has  had  so  little  experience 
with  this  existence  should  have  any 
sense  of  proportion.  You  appear  to 
be  speaking  quite  seriously.  You  do 
not  seem  at  all  to  comprehend  the 
utter  triviality  of  all  this." 

"  Good  gracious  !  "  cried  Brenton, 
"  do  you  call  it  a  trivial  thing  that  a 


ffrom  TDdbose  Bourne.  59 

woman  is  in  danger  of  her  life  for  a 
crime  which  she  never  committed  ?  " 

"  If  she  is  innocent/*  said  the  other, 
in  no  way  moved  by  the  indignation 
of  his  comrade,  "  surely  that  state  of 
things  will  be  brought  out  in  the  courts, 
and  no  great  harm  will  be  done,  even 
looking  at  things  from  the  standpoint 
of  the  world  you  have  left.  But  I 
want  you  to  get  into  the  habit  of  look 
ing  at  things  from  the  standpoint  of 
this  world,  and  not  of  the  other.  Sup 
pose  that  what  you  would  call  the 
worst  should  happen — suppose  she  is 
hanged — what  then  ?  " 

Brenton  stood  simply  speechless 
with  indignation  at  this  brutal  remark. 

"  If  you  will  just  look  at  things  cor 
rectly,"  continued  Ferris,  imperturba- 
bly,  "  you  will  see  that  there  is  prob 
ably  a  moment  of  anguish,  perhaps 
not  even  that  moment,  and  then  your 
wife  is  here  with  you  in  the  land  of 
spirits.  I  am  sure  that  is  a  consum 
mation  devoutly  to  be  wished.  Even 


60  3ftom  TKHbose  Bourne. 

a  man  in  your  state  of  mind  must  see 
the  reasonableness  of  this.  Now,  look 
ing  at  the  question  in  what  you  would 
call  its  most  serious  aspect,  see  how  lit 
tle  it  amounts  to.  It  isn't  worth  a 
moment's  thought,  whichever  way  it 
goes." 

"You  think  nothing,  then,  of  the 
disgrace  of  such  a  death — of  the  bitter 
injustice  of  it  ?  " 

"  When  you  were  in  the  world  did 
you  ever  see  a  child  cry  over  a  broken 
toy?  Did  the  sight  pain  you  to  any 
extent?  Did  you  not  know  that  a 
new  toy  could  be  purchased  that 
would  quite  obliterate  all  thoughts  of 
the  other?  Did  the  simple  griefs  of 
childhood  carry  any  deep  and  lasting 
consternation  to  the  mind  of  a  grown 
up  man  ?  Of  course  it  did  not.  You 
are  sensible  enough  to  know  that. 
Well,  we  here  in  this  world  look  on  the 
pain  and  struggles  and  trials  of  people 
in  the  world  you  have  left,  just  as  an 
aged  man  looks  on  the  tribulations  of 


ffrom  "viGlbose  JSourne,  61 

children  over  a  broken  doll.  That  is 
all  it  really  amounts  to.  That  is  what 
I  mean  when  I  say  that  you  have  not 
yet  got  your  sense  of  proportion. 
Any  grief  and  misery  there  is  in  the 
world  you  have  left  is  of  such  an 
ephemeral,  transient  nature,  that  when 
we  think  for  a  moment  of  the  free,  un 
trammelled,  and  painless  life  there  is 
beyond,  those  petty  troubles  sink  into 
insignificance.  My  dear  fellow,  be  sen 
sible,  take  my  advice.  I  have  really  a 
strong  interest  in  you,  and  I  advise 
you,  entirely  for  your  own  -welfare,  to 
forget  all  about  it.  Very  soon  you 
will  have  something  much  more  im 
portant  to  do  than  lingering  around 
the  world  you  have  left.  If  your  wife 
comes  amongst  us  I  am  sure  you  will 
be  glad  to  welcome  her,  and  to  teach 
her  the  things  that  you  will  have 
already  found  out  of  your  new  life. 
If  she  does  not  appear,  then  you  will 
know  that,  even  from  the  old-world 
standpoint,  things  have  gone  what  you 


62  afrom  Udbose  Bourne* 

would  call  '  all  right/  Let  these  trivial 
matters  go,  and  attend  to  the  vastly 
more  important  concerns  that  will  soon 
engage  your  attention  here." 

Ferris  talked  earnestly,  and  it  was 
evident,  even  to  Brenton,  that  he  meant 
what  he  said.  It  was  hard  to  find  a 
pretext  for  a  quarrel  with  a  man  at 
once  so  calm  and  so  perfectly  sure  of 
himself. 

"  We  will  not  talk  any  more  about 
it,"  said  Brenton.  "  I  presume  people 
here  agree  to  differ,  just  as  they  did  in 
the  world  we  have  both  left." 

"  Certainly,  certainly,"  answered  Fer 
ris.  "Of  course,  you  have  just  heard 
my  opinion ;  but  you  will  find  myriads 
of  others  who  do  not  share  it  with  me. 
You  will  meet  a  great  many  who  are 
interested  in  the  subject  of  com 
munication  with  the  world  they  have 
left.  You  will,  of  course,  excuse  me 
when  I  say  that  I  consider  such  en 
deavors  not  worth  talking  about." 

"  Do  you  know  any  one  who  is  in- 


ffrom  TUabose  JSourne.  63 

terested  in  that  sort  of  thing?  and 
can  you  give  me  an  introduction  to 
him?" 

"  Oh !  for  that  matter/'  said  Ferris, 
"you  have  had  an  introduction  to  one 
of  the  most  enthusiastic  investigators 
of  the  subject.  I  refer  to  Mr.  John 
Speed,  late  of  Chicago." 

"Ah!"  said  Brenton,  rather  dubi 
ously.  "  I  must  confess  that  I  was  not 
very  favorably  impressed  with  Mr. 
Speed.  Probably  I  did  him  an  in 
justice." 

"You  certainly  did,"  said  Ferris. 
"You  will  find  Speed  a  man  well  worth 
knowing,  even  if  he  does  waste  himself 
on  such  futile  projects  as  a  scheme  for 
communicating  with  a  community  so 
evanescent  as  that  of  Chicago.  You 
will  like  Speed  better  the  more  you 
know  him.  He  really  is  very  philan 
thropic,  and  has  Sommers  on  his  hands 
just  now.  From  what  he  said  after 
you  left  Venice,  I  imagine  he  does  not 
entertain  the  same  feeling  toward  you 


64  ffrom  TKHbose  Bourne. 

as  you  do  toward  him.  I  would  see 
Speed  if  I  were  you." 

"  I  will  think  about  it,"  said  Bren- 
ton,  as  they  separated. 

To  know  that  a  man  thinks  well  of  a 
person  is  no  detriment  to  further  ac 
quaintance  with  that  man,  even  if  the 
first  impressions  have  not  been  favor 
able  ;  and  after  Ferris  told  Brenton 
that  Speed  had  thought  well  of  him, 
Brenton  found  less  difficulty  in  seeking 
the  Chicago  enthusiast. 

"I  have  been  in  a  good  deal  of 
trouble,"  Brenton  said  to  Speed,  "  and 
have  been  talking  to  Ferris  about  it. 
I  regret  to  say  that  he  gave  me  very 
little  encouragement,  and  did  not 
seem  at  all  to  appreciate  my  feelings 
in  the  matter." 

"  Oh,  you  mustn't  mind  Ferris,"  said 
Speed.  "  He  is  a  first-rate  fellow,  but 
he  is  as  cold  and  unsympathetic  as — 
well,  suppose  we  say  as  an  oyster.  His 
great  hobby  is  non-intercourse  with 
the  world  we  have  left.  Now,  in  that 


TKHbose  bourne*  65 

I  don't  agree  with  him,  and  there  are 
thousands  who  don't  agree  with  him. 
I  admit  that  there  are  cases  where  a 
man  is  more  unhappy  if  he  frequents 
the  old  world  than  he  would  be  if  he 
left  it  alone.  But  then  there  are  other 
cases  where  just  the  reverse  is  true. 
Take  my  own  experience,  for  example ; 
I  take  a  peculiar  pleasure  in  rambling 
around  Chicago.  I  admit  that  it  is  a 
grievance  to  me,  as  an  old  newspaper 
man,  to  see  the  number  of  scoops  I 
could  have  on  my  esteemed  contem 
poraries,  but— 

"  Scoop  ?  What  is  that  ?  "  asked 
Brenton,  mystified. 

"  Why,  a  scoop  is  a  beat,  you  know." 

"  Yes,  but  I  don't  know.  What  is  a 
beat?" 

"  A  beat  or  a  scoop,  my  dear  fellow, 
is  the  getting  of  a  piece  of  news  that 
your  contemporary  does  not  obtain. 
You  never  were  in  the  newspaper 
business?  Well,  sir,  you  missed  it. 
Greatest  business  in  the  world.  You 


66  ffrom  Tldbose  JSourne* 

know  everything  that  is  going  on  long 
before  anybody  else  does,  and  the  way 
you  can  reward  your  friends  and  jump 
with  both  feet  on  your  enemies  is  one  of 
the  delights  of  existence  down  there." 

"  Well,  what  I  wanted  to  ask  you 
was  this,  "  said  Brenton.  "  You  have 
made  a  specialty  of  finding  out 
whether  there  could  be  any  communi 
cation  between  one  of  us,  for  instance, 
and  one  who  is  an  inhabitant  of  the 
other  world.  Is  such  communication 
possible?" 

"  I  have  certainly  devoted  some 
time  to  it,  but  I  can't  say  that  my  suc 
cess  has  been  flattering.  My  efforts 
have  been  mostly  in  the  line  of  news. 
I  have  come  on  some  startling  infor 
mation  which  my  facilities  here  gave 
me  access  to,  and  I  confess  I  have 
tried  my  best  to  put  some  of  the  boys 
on  to  it.  But  there  is  a  link  loose 
somewhere.  Now,  what  is  your 
trouble  ?  Do  you  want  to  get  a  mes 
sage  to  anybody  ?  " 


ffrom  Wbose  bourne.  67 

€t  My  trouble  is  this/'  said  Brenton, 
briefly,  "  I  am  here  because  a  few  days 
ago  I  was  poisoned." 

"  George  Washington  !  "  cried  the 
other,  "  you  don't  say  so  !  Have  the 
newspapers  got  on  to  the  fact  ?  " 

"  I  regret  to  say  that  they  have." 

"  What  an  item  that  would  have 
been  if  one  paper  had  got  hold  of  it  and 
the  others  hadn't !  I  suppose  they 
all  got  on  to  it  at  the  same  time  ?  " 

"  About  that,"  said  Brenton,  "  I 
don't  know,  and  I  must  confess  that  I 
do  not  care  very  much.  But  here  is  the 
trouble — my  wife  has  been  arrested 
for  my  murder,  and  she  is  as  innocent 
as  I  am." 

"Sure  of  that?  " 

"  Sure  of  it  ?  "  cried  the  other  indig 
nantly.  "  Of  course  I  am  sure  of  it." 

"  Then  who  is  the  guilty  person  ?  " 

"  Ah,  that,"  said  Brenton,  "  I  do  not 
yet  know." 

"Then  how  can  you  be  sure  she  is 
not  guilty?  " 


68  afrom  TiClbose 

"  If  you  talk  like  that,"  exclaimed 
Brenton,  "  I  have  nothing  more  to 
say." 

"  Now,  don't  get  offended,  I  beg  of 
you.  I  am  merely  looking  at  this 
from  a  newspaper  standpoint,  you 
know.  You  must  remember  it  is  not 
you  who  will  decide  the  matter,  but  a 
jury  of  your  very  stupid  fellow-coun 
trymen.  Now,  you  can  never  tell 
what  a  jury  will  do,  except  that  it  will 
do  something  idiotic.  Therefore,  it 
seems  to  me  that  the  very  first  step  to 
be  taken  is  to  find  out  who  the  guilty 
party  is.  Don't  you  see  the  force  of 
that  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  do." 

"  Very  well,  then.  Now,  what  were 
the  circumstances  of  this  crime  ?  who 
was  to  profit  by  your  death  ?  " 

Brenton  winced  at  this. 

"  I  see  how  it  is,"  said  the  other, 
"and  I  understand  why  you  don't 
answer.  Now — you'll  excuse  me  if  I 
am  frank — your  wife  was  the  one  who 


ffrom  THHboee  JSourne*  69 

benefited  most  by  your  death,  was 
she  not  ?" 

"  No,"  cried  the  other  indignantly, 
"  she  was  not  the  one.  That  is  what 
the  lawyers  said.  Why  in  the  world 
should  she  want  to  poison  me,  when 
she  had  all  my  wealth  at  her  command 
as  it  was?  " 

"Yes,  that's  a  strong  point,"  said 
Speed.  "You  were  a  reasonably 
good  husband,  I  suppose?  Rather 
generous  with  the  cash  ?  " 

"  Generous  ?  "  cried  the  other.  "  My 
wife  always  had  everything  she 
wanted." 

"  Ah,  well,  there  was  no — you'll  ex 
cuse  me,  I  am  sure — no  former  lover 
in  the  case,  was  there  ?  " 

Again  Brenton  winced,  and  he 
thought  of  Roland  sitting  beside  his 
wife  with  her  hand  in  his. 

"  I  see,"  said  Speed ;  "  you  needn't 
answer.  Now  what  were  the  circum 
stances,  again  ?  " 

"  They   were   these :    At     a  dinner 


70  ffrom  TKHbose  Bourne* 

which  I  gave,  where  some  twenty  or 
twenty- five  of  my  friends  were  assem 
bled,  poison,  it  appears,  was  put  into 
my  cup  of  coffee.  That  is  all  I  know 
of  it." 

"  Who  poured  out  that  cup  of 
coffee  ?" 

"  My  wife  did." 

"Ah  !  Now,  I  don't  for  a  moment 
say  she  is  guilty,  remember ;  but  you 
must  admit  that,  to  a  stupid  jury,  the 
case  might  look  rather  bad  against 
her." 

"  Well,  granted  that  it  does,  there 
is  all  the  more  need  that  I  should 
come  to  her  assistance  if  possible." 

"  Certainly,  certainly  !  "  said  Speed. 
"Now,  I'll  tell  you  what  we  have  to 
do.  We  must  get,  if  possible,  one  of 
the  very  brightest  Chicago  reporters 
on  the  track  of  this  thing,  and  we  have 
to  get  him  on  the  track  of  it  early. 
Come  with  me  to  Chicago.  We  will 
try  an  experiment,  and  I  am  sure  you 
will  lend  your  mind  entirely  to  the 


ffrom  TUabose  Bourne*  71 

effort.  We  must  act  in  conjuction  in 
this  affair,  and  you  are  just  the  man 
I've  been  wanting,  some  one  who  is 
earnest  and  who  has  something  at 
stake  in  the  matter.  We  may  fail 
entirely,  but  I  think  it's  worth  the 
trying.  Will  you  come?" 

"  Certainly,"  said  Brenton ;  "  and  I 
cannot  tell  you  how  much  I  appreciate 
your  interest  and  sympathy." 

Arriving  at  a  brown  stone  building 
on  the  corner  of  two  of  the  principal 
streets  in  Chicago,  Brenton  and  Speed 
ascended  quickly  to  one  of  the  top 
floors.  It  was  nearly  midnight,  and 
two  upper  stories  of  the  huge  dark 
building  were  brilliantly  lighted,  as 
was  shown  on  the  outside  by  the  long 
rows  of  glittering  windows.  They  en 
tered  a  room  where  a  man  was  seated 
at  a  table,  with  coat  and  vest  thrown 
off,  and  his  hat  set  well  back  on  his 
head.  Cold  as  it  was  outside,  it  was 
warm  in  this  man's  room,  and  the 
room  was  blue  with  smoke.  A  black 


72  ffrom  TKftbose  JSourne* 

corn-cob  pipe  was  in  his  teeth,  and  the 
man  was  writing  away  as  if  for  dear 
life,  on  sheets  of  coarse  white  copy 
paper,  stopping  now  and  then  to  fill 
up  his  pipe  or  to  relight  it  after  it  had 
gone  out.  ' 

"  There,"  said  Speed,  waving  his 
hand  towards  the  writer  with  a  cer 
tain  air  of  proprietory  pride,  "  there 
sits  one  of  the  very  cleverest  men  on 
the  Chicago  press.  That  fellow,  sir,  is 
gifted  with  a  nose  for  news  which  has 
no  equal  in  America.  He  will  ferret 
out  a  case  that  he  once  starts  on  with 
an  unerringness  that  would  charm  you. 
Yes,  sir,  I  got  him  his  present  situa 
tion  on  this  paper,  and  I  can  tell  you 
it  is  a  good  one." 

"  He  must  have  been  a  warm  friend 
of  yours  ? "  said  Brenton,  indiffer 
ently,  as  if  he  did  not  take  much  in 
terest  in  the  eulogy. 

"  Quite  the  contrary,"  said  Speed. 
"  He  was  a  warm  enemy,  made  it 
mighty  warm  for  me  sometimes.  He 


ffrom  TiUlbose  JSourne.  73 

was  on  an  opposition  paper,  but  I  tell 
you,  although  I  was  no  chicken  in 
newspaper  business,  that  man  would 
scoop  the  daylight  out  of  me  any 
time  he  tried.  So,  to  get  rid  of  oppo 
sition,  I  got  the  managing  editor  to 
appoint  him  to  a  place  on  our  paper  ; 
and  I  tell  you,  he  has  never  regretted 
it.  Yes,  sir,  there  sits  George  Strat- 
ton,  a  man  who  knows  his  business. 
Now/'  he  said,  "  let  us  concentrate  our 
attention  on  him.  First  let  us  see 
whether,  by  putting  our  whole  minds 
to  it,  we  can  make  any  impression  on 
his  mind  whatever.  You  see  how 
busily  he  is  engaged.  He  is  thor 
oughly  absorbed  in  his  work.  That  is 
George  all  over.  Whatever  his  assign 
ment  is,  George  throws  himself  right 
into  it,  and  thinks  of  nothing  else  un 
til  it  is  finished.  Now  then." 

In  that  dingy,  well-lighted  room 
George  Stratton  sat  busily  pencilling 
out  the  lines  that  were  to  appear  in 
next  morning's  paper.  He  was  evi- 


74  ffrom  TUHbose  bourne. 

dently  very  much  engrossed  in  his  task, 
as  Speed  had  said.  If  he  had  looked 
about  him,  which  he  did  not,  he  would 
have  said  that  he  was  entirely  alone. 
All  at  once  his  attention  seemed  to 
waver,  and  he  passed  his  hand  over  his 
brow,  while  perplexity  came  into  his 
face.  Then  he  noticed  that  his  pipe 
was  out,  and,  knocking  the  ashes  from 
it  by  rapping  the  bowl  on  the  side  of 
the  table,  he  filled  it  with  an  absent- 
mindedness  unusual  with  him.  Again 
he  turned  to  his  writing,  and  again  he 
passed  his  hand  over  his  brow.  Sud 
denly,  without  any  apparent  cause,  he 
looked  first  to  the  right  and  then  to  the 
left  of  him.  Once  more  he  tried  to 
write,  but,  noticing  his  pipe  was  out,  he 
struck  another  match  and  nervously 
puffed  away,  until  clouds  of  blue  smoke 
rose  around  him.  There  was  a  look  of 
annoyance  and  perplexity  in  his  face 
as  he  bent  resolutely  to  his  writing. 
The  door  opened,  and  a  man  appeared 
on  the  threshold. 


ffrom  Tldboee  JSourne,  75 

"  Anything  more  about  the  conven 
tion,  George?"  he  said. 

"  Yes ;  I  am  just  finishing  this. 
Sort  of  pen  pictures,  you  know." 

"  Perhaps  you  can  let  me  have  what 
you  have  done.  I'll  fix  it  up." 

"All  right,"  said  Stratton,  bunching 
up  the  manuscript  in  front  of  him,  and 
handing  it  to  the  city  editor. 

That  functionary  looked  at  the  num 
ber  of  pages,  and  then  at  the  writer. 

"Much  more  of  this,  George?" 
he  said.  "We'll  be  a  little  short  of 
room  in  the  morning,  you  know." 

"  Well,"  said  the  other,  sitting  back 
in  his  chair,  "it  is  pretty  good  stuff 
that.  Folks  always  like  the  pen  pic 
tures  of  men  engaged  in  the  skirmish 
better  than  the  reports  of  what  most 
of  them  say." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  city  editor,  "  that's 
so." 

"Still,"  said  Stratton,  "we  could 
cut  it  off  at  the  last  page.  Just  let  me 
see  the  last  two  pages,  will  you  ?  " 


76  ffrom  THRbose  Bourne* 

These  were  handed  to  him,  and,  run 
ning  his  eye  through  them,  he  drew  his 
knife  across  one  of  the  pages,  and  put 
at  the  bottom  the  cabalistic  mark 
which  indicated  the  end  of  the  copy. 

"  There !  I  think  I  will  let  it  go  at 
that.  Old  Rickenbeck  don't  amount 
to  much,  anyhow.  We'll  let  him 

go." 

"All  right,"  said  the  city  editor. 
*'  I  think  we  won't  want  anything 
more  to-night." 

Stratton  put  his  hands  behind  his 
head,  with  his  fingers  interlaced,  and 
leaned  back  in  his  chair,  placing  his 
heels  upon  the  table  before  him.  A 
thought-reader,  looking  at  his  face, 
could  almost  have  followed  the  theme 
that  occupied  his  mind.  Suddenly 
bringing  his  feet  down  with  a  crash  to 
the  floor,  he  rose  and  went  into  the 
city  editor's  room. 

"See  here,"  he  said.  "Have  you 
looked  into  that  Cincinnati  case  at 
all?" 


ffrom  TDQbose  Bourne.  77 

"What  Cincinnati  case?"  asked  the 
local  editor,  looking  up. 

"Why,  that  woman  who  is  up  for 
poisoning  her  husband." 

"  Oh  yes ;  we  had  something  of  it 
in  the  despatches  this  morning.  It's 
rather  out  of  the  local  line,  you  know." 

"  Yes,  I  know  it  is.  But  it  isn't  out 
of  the  paper's  line.  I  tell  you  that 
case  is  going  to  make  a  sensation. 
She's  pretty  as  a  picture.  Been  mar 
ried  only  six  months,  and  it  seems  to 
be  a  dead  sure  thing  that  she  poisoned 
her  husband.  That  trial's  going  to 
make  racy  reading,  especially  if  they 
bring  in  a  verdict  of  guilty." 

The  city  editor  looked  interested. 

"  Want  to  go  down  there,  George  ?  " 

"Well,  do  you  know,  I  think  it'll 
pay." 

"  Let  me  see,  this  is  the  last  day  of 
the  convention,  isn't  it?  And  Clark 
comes  back  from  his  vacation  to-mor 
row.  Well,  if  you  think  it's  worth  it, 
take  a  trip  down  there,  and  look  the 


78  ffrom  laabose  bourne. 

ground  over,  and  give  us  a  special 
article  that  we  can  use  on  the  first 
day  of  the  trial." 

"I'll  do  it,"  said  George. 

****** 

Speed  looked  at  Brenton. 
"What  would    old  Ferris  say  now, 
eh?" 


CHAPTER  VI. 

NEXT  morning  George  Stratton  was 
on  the  railway  train  speeding  towards 
Cincinnati.  As  he  handed  to  the 
conductor  his  mileage  book,  he  did 
not  say  to  him,  lightly  transposing  the 
old  couplet — 

"  Here,  railroad  man,  take  thrice  thy  fee, 
For  spirits  twain  do  ride  with  me." 

George  Stratton  was  a  practical  man, 
and  knew  nothing  of  spirits,  except 
those  which  were  in  a  small  flask  in  his 
natty  little  valise. 

When  he  reached  Cincinnati,  he 
made  straight  for  the  residence  of  the 
sheriff.  He  felt  that  his  first  duty  was 
to  become  friends  with  such  an  im 
portant  official.  Besides  this,  he 
wished  to  have  an  interview  with  the 


So  ffrom  TiUlbose  JSourne. 

prisoner.  He  had  arranged  in  his 
mind,  on  the  way  there,  just  how  he 
would  write  a  preliminary  article  that 
would  whet  the  appetite  of  the  readers 
of  the  Chicago  Argus  for  any  further 
developments  that  might  occur  during 
and  after  the  trial.  He  would  write 
the  whole  thing  in  the  form  of  a  story. 
First,  there  would  be  a  sketch  of  the 
life  of  Mrs.  Brenton  and  her  husband. 
This  would  be  number  one,  and  above 
it  \vould  be  the  Roman  numeral  I. 
Under  the  heading  II.  would  be  a 
history  of  the  crime.  Under  III.  what 
had  occurred  afterwards — the  incidents 
that  had  led  suspicion  towards  the 
unfortunate  woman,  and  that  sort  of 
thing.  Under  the  numeral  IV.  would 
be  his  interview  with  the  prisoner,  if 
he  were  fortunate  enough  to  get  one. 
Under  V.  he  would  give  the  general 
opinion  of  Cincinnati  on  the  crime, 
and  on  the  guilt  or  innocence  of  Mrs. 
Brenton.  This  article  he  already  saw 
in  his  mind's  eye  occupying  nearly 


ffrom  Whose  bourne*  8r 

half  a  page  of  the  Argus.  All  would 
be  in  leaded  type,  and  written  in  a 
style  and  manner  that  would  attract 
attention,  for  he  felt  that  he  was  first 
on  the  ground,  and  would  not  have 
the  usual  rush  in  preparing  his  copy 
which  had  been  the  bane  of  his  life. 
It  would  give  the  Argus  practically 
the  lead  in  this  case,  which  he  was 
convinced  would  become  one  of 
national  importance. 

The  sheriff  received  him  courteously,, 
and,  looking  at  the  card  he  presentedr 
saw  the  name  Chicago  Argus  in  the 
corner.  Then  he  stood  visibly  on  his 
guard — an  attitude  assumed  by  all 
wise  officials  when  they  find  them 
selves  brought  face  to  face  with  a 
newspaper  man  ;  for  they  know,  how 
ever  carefully  an  article  may  be 
prepared,  it  will  likely  contain  some 
unfortunate  overlooked  phrase  which, 
may  have  a  damaging  effect  in  a 
future  political  campaign. 

"  I    wanted     to    see     you,"    began* 


82  afrom  Wbose  JBoutne* 

Stratton,  coming  straight  to  the  point, 
"  in  reference  to  the  Brenton  murder.  " 

"  I  may  say  at  once,"  replied  the 
sheriff,  "  that  if  you  wish  an  interview 
with  the  prisoner,  it  is  utterly  im 
possible,  because  her  lawyers,  Benham 
and  Brown,  have  positively  forbidden 
her  to  see  a  newspaper  man." 

"  That  shows,"  said  Stratton,  "  they 
are  wise  men  who  understand  their 
business.  Nevertheless,  I  wish  to  have 
an  interview  with  Mrs.  Brenton.  But 
what  I  wanted  to  say  to  you  is  this : 
I  believe  the  case  will  be  very  much 
talked  about,  and  that  before  many 
weeks  are  over.  Of  course  you  know 
the  standing  the  Argus  has  in  news 
paper  circles.  What  it  says  will  have 
an  influence  even  over  the  Cincinnati 
press.  I  think  you  will  admit  that. 
Now  a  great  many  newspaper  men 
consider  an  official  their  natural 
enemy.  I  do  not ;  at  least,  I  do  not 
until  I  am  forced  to.  Any  reference 
that  I  may  make  to  you  I  am  more 


ffrom  Wbose  JSourne.  83 

than  willing  to  submit  to  you  before 
it  goes  to  Chicago.  I  will  give  you 
my  word,  if  you  want  it,  that  nothing 
will  be  said  referring  to  your  official 
position,  or  to  yourself  personally,  that 
you  do  not  see  before  it  appears  in 
print.  Of  course  you  will  be  up  for 
re-election.  I  never  met  a  sheriff  who 
wasn't." 

The  sheriff  smiled  at  this,  and  did 
not  deny  it. 

"  Very  well.  Now,  I  may  tell  you 
my  belief  is  that  this  case  is  going  to 
have  a  powerful  influence  on  your 
re-election.  Here  is  a  young  and 
pretty  woman  who  is  to  be  tried  for  a 
terrible  crime.  Whether  she  is  guilty 
or  innocent,  public  sympathy  is  going 
to  be  with  her.  If  I  were  in  your 
place,  I  would  prefer  to  be  known  as 
her  friend  rather  than  as  her  enemy/' 

"  My  dear  sir,"  said  the  sheriff,  "  my 
official  position  puts  me  in  the  attitude 
of  neither  friend  nor  enemy  of  the 
unfortunate  woman.  I  have  simply  a 


84  ffrom  THabose  Bourne* 

certain  duty  to  do,  and  that  duty  I 
intend  to  perform." 

"  Oh,  that's  all  right !  "  exclaimed 
the  newspaper  man,  jauntily.  "  I,  for 
one,  am  not  going  to  ask  you  to  take  a 
step  outside  your  duties ;  but  an 
official  may  do  his  duty,  and  yet,  at 
the  same  time,  do  a  friendly  act  for  a 
newspaper  man,  or  even  for  a  prisoner, 
In  the  language  of  the  old  chestnut, 
4  If  you  don't  help  me,  don't  help  the 
bear.'  That's  all  I  ask." 

"  You  may  be  sure,  Mr.  Stratton,  that 
anything  I  can  do  to  help  you  I  shall 
be  glad  to  do;  and  now  let  me  give 
you  a  hint.  If  you  want  to  see  Mrs. 
Brenton,  the  best  thing  is  to  get  per 
mission  from  her  lawyers.  If  I  were 
you  I  would  not  see  Benham — he's 
rather  a  hard  nut,  Benham  is,  although 
you  needn't  tell  him  I  said  so.  You 
get  on  the  right  side  of  Brown. 
Brown  has  some  political  aspirations 
himself,  and  he  does  not  want  to 
offend  a  man  on  so  powerful  a  paper 


ffrom  ixabose  bourne*  85 

as  the  Argus,  even  if  it  is  not  a  Cin 
cinnati  paper.  Now,  if  you  make  him 
the  same  offer  you  have  made  to  me,  I 
think  it  will  be  all  right.  If  he  sees 
your  copy  before  it  goes  into  print, 
and  if  you  keep  your  word  with  him 
that  nothing  will  appear  that  he  does 
not  see,  I  think  you  will  succeed  in 
getting  an  interview  with  Mrs.  Bren- 
ton.  If  you  bring  me  a  note  from 
Brown,  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  allow 
you  to  see  her." 

Stratton  thanked  the  sheriff  for  his 
hint.  He  took  down  in  his  note-book 
the  address  of  the  lawyers,  and  the 
name  especially  of  Mr.  Brown.  The 
two  men  shook  hands,  and  Stratton 
felt  that  they  understood  each  other. 

When  Mr.  Stratton  was  ushered  into 
the  private  office  of  Brown,  and 
handed  that  gentleman  his  card,  he 
noticed  the  lawyer  perceptibly  freeze 
over. 

"  Ahem,"  said  the  legal  gentleman  ; 
"  you  will  excuse  me  if  I  say  that  my 


86  ffrom  TDdbose  bourne, 

time  is  rather  precious.  Did  you  wish 
to  see  me  professionally  ?  " 

"Yes,"  replied  Stratton,  "  that  is, 
from  a  newspaper  standpoint  of  the 
profession." 

"Ah,"  said  the  other,  "in  reference 
to  what  ?  " 

"  To  the  Brenton  case." 

"  Well,  my  dear  sir,  I  have  had,  very 
reluctantly,  to  refuse  information  that 
I  would  have  been  happy  to  give,  if  I 
could,  to  our  own  newspaper  men  ;  and 
so  I  may  say  to  you  at  once  that  I 
scarcely  think  it  will  be  possible  forme 
to  be  of  any  service  to  an  outside 
paper  like  the  Argus." 

"  Local  newspaper  men,"  said  Strat 
ton,  "  represent  local  fame.  That  you 
already  possess.  I  represent  national 
fame,  which,  if  you  will  excuse  my  say 
ing  so,  you  do  not  yet  possess.  The 
fact  that  I  am  in  Cincinnati  to-day, 
instead  of  in  Chicago,  shows  what  we 
Chicago  people  think  of  the  Cincinnati 
case.  I  believe,  and  the  Argus  be- 


ffrom  TDdbose  JSourne.  87 

lieves,  that  this  case  is  going  to  be  one 
of  national  importance.  Now,  let  me 
ask  you  one  question.  Will  you  state 
frankly  what  your  objection  is  to  hav 
ing  a  newspaper  man,  for  instance,  in 
terview  Mrs.  Brenton,  or  get  any 
information  relating  to  this  case  from 
her  or  others  whom  you  have  the 
power  of  controlling?  " 

"  I  shall  answer  that  question,"  said 
Brown,  "  as  frankly  as  you  put  it.  You 
are  a  man  of  the  world,  and  know,  of 
course,  that  we  are  all  selfish,  and  in 
business  matters  look  entirely  after  our 
own  interests.  My  interest  in  this  case 
is  to  defend  my  client.  Your  interest 
in  this  case  is  to  make  a  sensational 
article.  You  want  to  get  facts  if  pos 
sible,  but,  in  any  event,  you  want  to 
write  up  a  readable  column  or  two  for 
your  paper.  Now,  if  I  allowed  you  to 
see  Mrs.  Brenton,  she  might  say  some 
thing  to  you,  and  you  might  publish 
it,  that  would  not  only  endanger  her 
chances,  but  would  seriously  embarrass 


88  ffrom  mbose  JSoutne. 

us,  as  her  lawyers,  in  our  defence  of  the 
case." 

"You  have  stated  the  objection  very 
plainly  and  forcibly,"  said  Stratton, 
with  a  look  of  admiration,  as  if  the 
powerful  arguments  of  the  lawyer  had 
had  a  great  effect  on  him.  "  Now,  if 
I  understand  your  argument,  it  simply 
amounts  to  this,  that  you  would  have 
no  objection  to  my  interviewing  Mrs. 
Brenton  if  you  have  the  privilege  of 
editing  the  copy.  In  other  words,  if 
nothing  were  printed  but  what  you 
approve  of,  you  would  not  have  the 
slightest  hesitancy  about  allowing  me 
that  interview." 

"  No,  I  don't  know  that  I  would," 
admitted  the  lawyer. 

"  Very  well,  then.  Here  is  my  prop 
osition  to  you :  I  am  here  to  look 
after  the  interests  of  our  paper  in  this 
particular  case.  The  Argus  is  proba 
bly  going  to  be  the  first  paper  outside 
of  Cincinnati  that  will  devote  a  large 
amount  of  space  to  the  Brenton  trial, 


jfrom  TlClbose  3Bourne»  89 

in  addition  to  what  is  received  from 
the  Associated  Press  dispatches.  Now 
you  can  give  me  a  great  many  facilities 
in  this  matter  if  you  care  to  do  so,  and 
in  return  I  am  perfectly  willing  to  sub 
mit  to  you  every  line  of  copy  that 
concerns  you  or  your  client  before  it 
is  sent,  and  I  give  you  my  word  of 
honor  that  nothing  shall  appear  but 
what  you  have  seen  and  approved  of. 
If  you  want  to  cut  out  something  that 
I  think  is  vitally  important,  then  I 
shall  tell  you  frankly  that  I  intend  to 
print  it,  but  will  modify  it  as  much  as 
I  possibly  can  to  suit  your  views/' 

"  I  see,"  said  the  lawyer.  "  In  other 
words,  as  you  have  just  remarked,  I 
am  to  give  you  special  facilities  in  this 
matter,  and  then,  when  you  find  out 
some  fact  which  I  wish  kept  secret,  and 
which  you  have  obtained  because  of 
the  facilities  I  have  given  to  you,  you 
will  quite  frankly  tell  me  that  it  must 
go  in,  and  then,  of  course,  I  shall  be 
helpless  except  to  debar  you  from  any 


90  fftom  TUHbose  JBourne. 

further  facilities,  as  you  call  them.  No, 
sir,  I  do  not  care  to  make  any  such 
bargain/* 

"Well,  suppose  I  strike  out  that 
clause  of  agreement,  and  say  to  you 
that  I  will  send  nothing  but  what  you 
approve  of,  would  you  then  write  me  a 
note  to  the  sheriff  and  allow  me  to  see 
the  prisoner  ?" 

"  I  am  sorry  to  say  " — the  lawyer 
hesitated  for  a  moment,  and  glanced 
at  the  card,  then  added — "  Mr.  Strat- 
ton,  that  I  do  not  see  my  way  clear 
to  granting  your  request/' 

"  I  think/'  said  Stratton,  rising, 
"that  you  are  doing  yourself  an  injus 
tice.  You  are  refusing — I  may  as  well 
tell  you  first  as  last — what  is  a  great 
privilege.  Now,  you  'have  had  some 
experience  in  your  business,  and  I  have 
had  some  experience  in  mine,  and  I 
beg  to  inform  you  that  men  who  are 
much  more  prominent  in  the  history  of 
their  country  than  any  one  I  can  at 
present  think  of  in  Cincinnati,  have 


ffrom  Wlbose  JBourne.  9* 

tried  to  balk  me  in  the  pursuit  of  my 
business,  and  have  failed. " 

"  In  that  matter,  of  course/*  said 
Brown,  "  I  must  take  my  chances.  I 
don't  see  the  use  of  ^prolonging  this 
interview.  As  you  have  been  so  frank 
as  to — I  won't  say  threaten,  perhaps 
warn  is  the  better  word — as  you  have 
been  so  good  as  to  warn  me,  I  may, 
before  we  part,  just  give  you  a  word  of 
caution.  Of  course  we,  in  Cincinnati, 
are  perfectly  willing  to  admit  that  Chi 
cago  people  are  the  smartest  on  earth, 
but  I  may  say  that  if  you  print  a  word 
in  your  paper  which  is  untrue  and 
which  is  damaging  to  our  side  of  the 
case,  or  if  you  use  any  methods  that 
are  unlawful  in  obtaining  the  informa 
tion  you  so  much  desire,  you  will  cer 
tainly  get  your  paper  into  trouble,  and 
you  will  run  some  little  personal  risk 
yourself." 

"  Well,  as  you  remarked  a  moment 
ago,  Mr.  Brown,  I  shall  have  to  take 
the  chances  of  that.  I  am  here  to  get 


92  ffrom  TiClbose  Bourne. 

the  news,  and  if  I  don't  succeed  it  will 
be  the  first  time  in  my  life/' 

"  Very  well,  sir,"  said  the  lawyer. 
"  I  wish  you  good  evening." 

"Just  one  thing  more,"  said  the 
newspaper  man,  "  before  I  leave  you." 

"  My  dear  sir,"  said  the  lawyer,  im 
patiently,  "I  am  very  busy.  I've 
already  given  you  a  liberal  share  of  my 
time.  I  must  request  that  this  inter 
view  end  at  once." 

"  I  thought,"  said  Mr.  Stratton, 
calmly,  "that  perhaps  you  might  be 
interested  in  the  first  article  that  I  am 
going  to  write.  I  shall  devote  one 
column  in  the  Argus  of  the  day  after 
to-morrow  to  your  defence  of  the  case, 
and  whether  your  theory  of  defence  is 
a  tenable  one  or  not." 

Mr.  Brown  pushed  back  his  chair  and 
looked  earnestly  at  the  young  man. 
That  individual  was  imperturbably 
pulling  on  his  gloves,  and  at  the  mo 
ment  was  buttoning  one  of  them. 

"  Our   defence !  "  cried    the   lawyer. 


ffrom  TlGlbose  Bourne.  93 

"  What  do  you  know  of  our  de 
fence?'* 

"  My  dear  sir,"  said  Stratton,  "  I 
know  all  about  it." 

"Sir,  that  is  impossible.  Nobody 
knows  what  our  defence  is  to  be  except 
Mr.  Benham  and  myself." 

"  And  Mr.  Stratton,  of  the  Chicago 
Argus"  replied  the  young  man,  as  he 
buttoned  his  coat. 

"  May  I  ask,  then,  what  the  defence 
is?" 

"  Certainly,"  answered  the  Chicago 
man.  "  Your  defence  is  that  Mr. 
Brenton  was  insane,  and  that  he  com 
mitted  suicide." 

Even  Mr.  Brown's  habitual  self-con 
trol,  acquired  by  long  years  of  training 
in  keeping  his  feelings  out  of  sight,  for 
the  moment  deserted  him.  He  drew 
his  breath  sharply,  and  cast  a  piercing 
glance  at  the  young  man  before  him, 
who  was  critically  watching  the  law 
yer's  countenance,  although  he  ap 
peared  to  be  'entirely  absorbed  in 


94  ffrom  Tidboee  bourne. 

buttoning  his  overcoat.  Then  Mr. 
Brown  gave  a  short,  dry  laugh. 

"  I  have  met  a  bluff  before,"  he 
said  carelessly  ;  "  but  I  should  like  to 
know  what  makes  you  think  that  such 
is  our  defence  ?  " 

"  Think !  "  cried  the  young  man. 
"I  don't  think  at  all;  I  know  it." 

"  How  do  you  know  it  ?  " 

"  Well,  for  one  thing,  I  know  it  by 
your  own  actions  a  moment  ago. 
What  first  gave  me  an  inkling  of  your 
defence  was  that  book  which  is  on 
your  table.  It  is  Forbes  Winslow  on 
the  mind  and  the  brain ;  a  very  inter 
esting  book,  Mr.  Brown,  very  interest 
ing  indeed.  It  treats  of  suicide,  and 
the  causes  and  conditions  of  the  brain 
that  will  lead  up  to  it.  It  is  a  very 
good  book,  indeed,  to  study  in  such  a 
case.  Good  evening,  Mr.  Brown.  I 
am  sorry  that  we  cannot  co-operate  in 
this  matter." 

Stratton  turned  and  walked  toward 
the  door,  while  the  lawyer  gazed  after 


ffrom  Tldbose  bourne.  95 

him  with  a  look  of  helpless  astonish 
ment  on  his  face.  As  Stratton  placed 
his  hand  on  the  door  knob,  the  lawyer 
seemed  to  wake  up  as  from  a  dream. 

"  Stop  !  "  he  cried  ;  "  I  will  give  you 
a  letter  that  will  admit  you  to  Mrs. 
Brenton." 


CHAPTER  VII. 

"  THERE  !  "  said  Speed  to  Brenton, 
triumphantly,  "what  do  think  of 
that?  Didn't  I  say  George  Stratton 
was  the  brightest  newspaper  man  in 
Chicago  ?  I  tell  you,  his  getting  that 
letter  from  old  Brown  was  one  of  the 
cleverest  bits  of  diplomacy  I  ever  saw. 
There  you  had  quickness  of  perception, 
and  nerve.  All  the  time  he  was  talk 
ing  to  old  Brown  he  was  just  taking 
that  man's  measure.  See  how  coolly 
he  acted  while  he  was  drawing  on  his 
gloves  and  buttoning  his  coat  as  if 
ready  to  leave.  Flung  that  at  Brown 
all  of  a  sudden  as  quiet  as  if  he  was 
saying  nothing  at  all  unusual,  and  all 
the  time  watching  Brown  out  of  the 
tail  of  his  eye.  Well,  sir,  I  must  admit, 


ffrom  IKHbose  JBourne.  97 

that  although  I  have  known  George 
Stratton  for  years,  I  thought  he  was 
dished  by  that  Cincinnati  lawyer.  I 
thought  that  George  was  just  gracefully 
covering  up  his  defeat,  and  there  he 
upset  old  Brown's  apple-cart  in  the 
twinkling  of  an  eye.  Now,  you  see  the 
effect  of  all  this.  Brown  has  practi 
cally  admitted  to  him  what  the  line  of 
defence  is.  Stratton  won't  publish  it, 
of  course  ;  he  has  promised  not  to,  but 
you  see  he  can  hold  that  over  Brown's 
head,  and  get  everything  he  wants 
unless  they  change  their  defence." 

"Yes,"  remarked  Brenton,  slowly, 
"  he  seems  to  be  a  very  sharp  news 
paper  man  indeed ;  but  I  don't  like 
the  idea  of  his  going  to  interview  my 
wife." 

"  Why,  what  is  there  wrong  about 
that?" 

"  Well,  there  is  this  wrong  about  it 
— that  she  in  her  depression  may  say 
something  that  will  tell  against  her." 

"  Even    if     she    does,    what   of    it  ? 


98  ffrom  TiClbose  bourne* 

Isn't  the  lawyer  going  to  see  the  letter 
before  it  is  sent  to  the  paper  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  so  sure  about  that.  Do 
you  think  Stratton  will  show  the  article 
to  Brown  if  he  gets  what  you  call  a 
scoop  or  a  beat  ?  " 

"  Why,  of  course  he  will,"  answered 
Speed,  indignantly  ;  "  hasn't  he  given 
him  his  word  that  he  will  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  know  he  has,"  said  Brenton, 
dubiously ;  "  but  he  is  a  newspaper 
man." 

"  Certainly  he  is,"  answered  Speed, 
with  strong  emphasis;  "that  is  the 
reason  he  will  keep  his  word." 

"  I  hope  so,  I  hope  so  ;  but  I  must 
admit  that  the  more  I  know  you  news 
paper  men,  the  more  I  see  the  great 
temptation  you  are  under  to  preserve 
if  possible  the  sensational  features  of 
an  article." 

"  I'll  bet  you  a  drink — no,  we  can't 
do  that,"  corrected  Speed  ;  "  but  you 
shall  see  that,  if  Brown  acts  square 
with  Stratton,  he  will  keep  his  word  to 


tfrom  TlClbose  bourne*  99 

the  very  letter  with  Brown.  There  is 
no  use  in  our  talking  about  the  matter 
here.  Let  us  follow  Stratton,  and  see 
what  comes  of  the  interview." 

"  I  think  I  prefer  to  go  alone/'  said 
Brenton,  coldly. 

"  Oh,  as  you  like,  as  you  like/* 
answered  the  other,  shortly.  "  I 
thought  you  wanted  my  help  in  this 
affair;  but  if  you  don't,  I  am  sure  I 
shan't  intrude." 

"That's  all  right,"  said  Brenton; 
"  come  along.  By  the  way,  Speed, 
what  do  you  think  of  that  line  of 
defence  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  enough  of  the 
circumstances  of  the  case  to  know  what 
to  think  of  it.  It  seems  to  me  rather 
a  good  line." 

"  It  can't  be  a  good  line  when  it 
is  not  true.  It  is  certain  to  break 
down." 

"That's  so,"  said  Speed;  "but  I'll 
bet  you  four  dollars  and  a  half  that 
they'll  prove  you  a  raving  maniac 


ioo  ffrom  Idbose 

before  they  are  through  with  you. 
They'll  show  very  likely  that  you 
tried  to  poison  yourself  two  or  three 
times  ;  bring  on  a  dozen  of  your  friends 
to  prove  that  they  knew  all  your  life 
you  were  insane." 

"Do  you  think  they  will?"  asked 
Brenton,  uneasily. 

"  Think  it  ?  Why,  I  am  sure  of  it. 
You'll  go  down  to  posterity  as  one  of 
the  most  complete  lunatics  that  ever 
lived  in  Cincinnati.  Oh,  there  won't 
be  anything  left  of  you  when  they  get 
through  with  you." 

Meanwhile,  Stratton  was  making 
his  way  to  the  residence  of  the  sher 
iff. 

"  Ah,"  said  that  official,  when  they 
met,  "you  got  your  letter,  did  you? 
Well,  I  thought  you  would." 

"  If  you  had  heard  the  conversation 
between  my  estimable  friend  Mr. 
Brown  and  myself,  up  to  the  very  last 
moment,  you  wouldn't  have  thought 
it." 


ffrom . 

"  Well,  Brown  is  generally  very 
courteous  towards  newspaper  men, 
and  that's  one  reason  you  see  his  name 
in  the  papers  a  great  deal." 

"  If  I  were  a  Cincinnati  newspaper 
man,  I  can  assure  you  that  his  name 
wouldn't  appear  very  much  in  the 
columns  of  my  paper.'* 

"  I  am  sorry  to  hear  you  say  that. 
I  thought  Brown  was  very  popular 
with  the  newspaper  men.  You  got 
the  letter,  though,  did  you?  " 

"Yes,  I  got  it.  Here  it  is.  Read 
it." 

The  sheriff  scanned  the  brief  note 
over,  and  put  it  in  his  pocket. 

"Just  take  a  chair  for  a  moment, 
will  you,  and  I  will  see  if  Mrs.  Brenton 
is  ready  to  receive  you." 

Stratton  seated  himself,  and,  pulling 
a  paper  from  his  pocket,  was  busily 
reading  when  the  sheriff  again  en 
tered. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  say,"  he  began, 
"  after  you  have  had  all  this  trouble, 


102  fftom  TldibQse  ,30ourne* 

that  Mrs.  Brenton  positively  refuses  to 
see  you.  You  know  I  cannot  compel  a 
prisoner  to  meet  any  one.  You  un 
derstand  that,  of  course." 

"  Perfectly,"  said  Stratton,  think 
ing  for  a  moment.  "  See  here,  sheriff, 
I  have  simply  got  to  have  a  talk  with 
that  woman.  Now,  can't  you  tell  her 
I  knew  her  husband,  or  something  of 
that  sort?  I'll  make  it  all  right  when 
I  see  her." 


"The  scoundrel!"  said  Brenton  to 
Speed,  as  Stratton  made  this  remark. 

"My  dear  sir,"  said  Speed,  "don't 
you  see  he  is  just  the  man  we  want? 
This  is  not  the  time  to  be  partic 
ular." 

"Yes,  but  think  of  the  treachery 
and  meanness  of  telling  a  poor  un 
fortunate  woman  that  he  was  ac 
quainted  with  her  husband,  who  is 
only  a  few  days  dead." 

"Now,    see  here,"    said    Speed,    "if 


ffrom  Wbose  Bourne*  103 

you  are  going  to  look  on  matters  in 
this  way  you  will  be  a  hindrance  and 
not  a  help  in  the  affair.  Don't  you 
appreciate  the  situation?  Why,  Mrs. 
Brenton's  own  lawyers,  as  you  have 
said,  think  her  guilty.  What,  then, 
can  they  learn  by  talking  with  her,  or 
what  good  can  they  do  her  with  their 
minds  already  prejudiced  against  her? 
Don't  you  see  that?" 

Brenton  made  no  answer  to  this, 
but  it  was  evident  he  was  very  ill  at 
ease. 


"  Did  you  know  her  husband  ?" 
asked  the  sheriff. 

"  No,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I  never 
heard  of  him  before.  But  I  must  see 
this  lady,  both  for  my  good  and  hers, 
and  I  am  not  going  to  let  a  little  thing 
like  that  stand  between  us.  Won't 
you  tell  her  that  I  have  come  with  a 
letter  from  her  own  lawyers?  Just 
show  her  the  letter,  and  say  that  I  will 


104  ffrom  Wbose  ^Bourne. 

take  up  but  very  little  of  her  time. 
I  am  sorry  to  ask  this  much  of  you, 
but  you  see  how  I  am  placed/* 

"Oh,  that's  all  right/'  said  the 
sheriff,  good-naturedly ;  "  I  shall  be 
very  glad  to  do  what  you  wish,"  and 
with  that  he  once  more  disappeared. 

The  sheriff  stayed  away  longer  this 
time,  and  Stratton  paced  the  room  im 
patiently.  Finally,  the  official  re 
turned,  and  said — 

"  Mrs.  Brenton  has  consented  to  see 
you.  Come  this  way,  please.  You 
will  excuse  me,  I  know,"  continued  the 
sheriff,  as  they  walked  along  together, 
"  but  it  is  part  of  my  duty  to  remain 
in  the  room  while  you  are  talking 
with  Mrs.  Brenton." 

"  Certainly,  certainly,"  said  Stratton  ; 
"  I  understand  that." 

"Very  well;  then,  if  I  may  make  a 
suggestion,  I  would  say  this :  you 
should  be  'prepared  to  ask  just  what 
you  want  to  know,  and  do  it  all  as 
speedily  as  possible,  for  really  Mrs. 


ffrom  TlUbosc  Bourne.  105 

Brenton  is  in  a  condition  of  nervous 
exhaustion  that  renders  it  almost  cruel 
to  put  her  through  any  rigid  cross  ex 
amination." 

44 1  understand  that  also,"  said 
Stratton ;  "  but  you  must  remember 
that  she  has  a  very  much  harder  trial 
to  undergo  in  the  future.  I  am  ex 
ceedingly  anxious  to  get  at  the  truth 
of  this  thing,  and  so,  if  it  seems  to  you 
that  I  am  asking  a  lot  of  very  unneces 
sary  questions,  I  hope  you  will  not  in 
terfere  with  me  as  long  as  Mrs.  Bren 
ton  consents  to  answer." 

"  I  shall  not  interfere  at  all,"  said  the 
sheriff;  "I  only  wanted  to  caution  you, 
for  the  lady  may  break  down  at  any 
moment.  If  you  can  marshal  your 
questions  so  that  the  most  important 
ones  come  first,  I  think  it  will  be  wise. 
I  presume  you  have  them  pretty  well 
arranged  in  your  own  mind?" 

"  Well,  I  can't  say  that  I  have ;  you 
see,  I  am  entirely  in  the  dark.  I  got 
no  help  whatever  from  the  lawyers, 


106  ffrom  TlXIlbose  bourne. 

and  from  what  I  know  of  their  defence 
I  am  thoroughly  convinced  that  they 
are  on  the  wrong  track." 

"  What !  did  Brown  say  anything 
about  the  defence  ?  That  is  not  like 
his  usual  caution." 

"  He  didn't  intend  to,"  answered 
Stratton  ;  "  but  I  found  out  all  I  wanted 
to  know,  nevertheless.  You  see,  I 
shall  have  to  ask  what  appears  to  be  a 
lot  of  rambling,  inconsequential  ques 
tions,  because  you  can  never  tell  in  a 
case  like  this  when  you  may  get  the 
key  to  the  whole  mystery." 

"  Well,  here  we  are,"  said  the  sheriff, 
as  he  knocked  at  a  door,  and  then 
pushed  it  open. 

From  the  moment  George  Stratton 
saw  Mrs.  Brenton  his  interest  in  the 
case  ceased  to  be  purely  journalistic. 

Mrs.  Brenton  was  standing  near  the 
window,  and  she  appeared  to  be  very 
calm  and  collected,  but  her  fingers 
twitched  nervously,  clasping  and  un 
clasping  each  other.  Her  modest 


ffrom  TCdbose  bourne*  107 

dress  of  black  was  certainly  a  very  be 
coming  one. 

George  thought  he  had  never  seen 
a  woman  so  beautiful. 

As  she  was  standing  up,  she  evi 
dently  intended  the  interview  to  be  a 
short  one. 

"  Madam, "said  Stratton,  "  I  am  very 
sorry  indeed  to  trouble  you  ;  but  I  have 
taken  a  great  interest  in  the  solution 
of  this  mystery,  and  I  have  your  law 
yers'  permission  to  visit  you.  I  assure 
you,  anything  you  say  will  be  sub 
mitted  to  them,  so  that  there  will  be 
no  conger  of  your  case  being  preju 
diced  by  any  statements  made." 

"  I  am  not  afraid,"  said  Mrs.  Bren- 
ton,  "that  the  truth  will  injure  or  prej 
udice  my  case." 

"  I  am  sure  of  that,"  answered  the 
newspaper  man ;  and  then,  knowing 
that  she  would  not  sit  down  if  he  asked 
her  to,  he  continued  diplomatically, 
"  Madam,  will  you  permit  me  to  sit 
down  ?  I  wish  to  write  out  my  notes 


io8  afrom  TUdbose  JSourne* 

as  carefully  as  possible.  Accuracy  is 
my  strong  point." 

"  Certainly/'  said  Mrs.  Brenton ; 
and,  seeing  that  it  was  not  probable 
the  interview  would  be  a  short  one,  she 
seated  herself  by  the  window,  while  the 
sheriff  took  a  chair  in  the  corner,  and 
drew  a  newspaper  from  his  pocket. 

"Now,  madam/'  said  the  special, 
"  a  great  number  of  the  questions  I 
ask  you  may  seem  trivial,  but  as  I  said 
to  the  sheriff  a  moment  ago,  some 
word  of  yours  that  appears  to  you  en 
tirely  unconnected  with  the  case  may 
give  me  a  clue  which  will  be  exceed 
ingly  valuable.  You  will,  therefore,  I 
am  sure,  pardon  me  if  some  of  the 
questions  I  ask  you  appear  irrel 
evant." 

Mrs.  Brenton  bowed  her  head,  but 
said  nothing. 

"Were  your  husband's  business 
affairs  in  good  condition  at  the  time 
of  his  death  ?  " 

"  As  far  as  I  know  they  were." 


"  MRS.    BREXTOX    LOOKED   UP   WITH    WIDE-OPEN   EYES." 

— Page  log. 


ffrom  TKflbose  bourne.  109 

"  Did  you  ever  see  anything  in  your 
husband's  actions  that  would  lead  you 
to  think  him  a  man  who  might  have 
contemplated  suicide  ?  " 

Mrs.  Brenton  looked  up  with  wide- 
open  eyes. 

"  Certainly  not/'  she  said. 

"  Had  he  ever  spoken  to  you  on  the 
subject  of  suicide  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  remember  that  he  ever 
did/' 

"  Was  he  ever  queer  in  his  actions? 
In  short,  did  you  ever  notice  anything 
about  him  that  would  lead  you  to 
doubt  his  sanity  ?  I  am  sorry  if  ques 
tions  I  ask  you  seem  painful,  but  I 
have  reasons  for  wishing  to  be  certain 
on  this  point." 

"  No,"  said  Mrs.  Brenton ;  "  he  was 
perfectly  sane.  No  man  could  have 
been  more  so.  I  am  certain  that  he 
never  thought  of  committing  sui 
cide." 

"Why  are  you  so  certain  on  that 
point?" 


ii2  ffrom  Tldbose  JBourne. 

"  I  think  she  did,''  was  the  answer. 
"  I  am  not  sure." 

He  marked  her  name  down  in  the 
note-book. 

"  How  many  people  were  there  at 
the  dinner?" 

"  Including  my  husband  and  myself, 
there  were  twenty-six." 

"  Could  you  give  me  the  name  of 
each  of  them?" 

"Yes,  I  think  so." 

She  repeated  the  names,  which  he 
took  down,  with  certain  notes  and 
comments  on  each. 

"  Who  sat  next  your  husband  at  the 
head  of  the  table  ?  " 

"  Miss  Walker  was  at  his  right  hand, 
Mr.  Roland  at  his  left." 

"  Now,  forgive  me  if  I  ask  you  if 
you  have  ever  had  any  trouble  with 
your  husband  ?  " 

"Never." 

"  Never  had  any  quarrel?" 

Mrs.  Brenton  hesitated  for  a  mo 
ment. 


ffrom  TJdbosc  bourne*  113 

"No,  I  don't  think  we  ever  had 
what  could  be  called  a  quarrel/' 

"  You  had  no  disagreement  shortly 
before  the  dinner?  " 

Again  Mrs.  Brenton  hesitated. 

"  I  can  hardly  call  it  a  disagree 
ment/*  she  said.  "  We  had  a  little 
discussion  about  some  of  the  guests 
who  were  to  be  invited  ?  " 

"  Did  he  object  to  any  that  were 
there?" 

"There  was  a  gentleman  there 
whom  he  did  not  particularly  like,  I 
think,  but  he  made  no  objection  to 
his  coming ;  in  fact,  he  seemed  to  feel 
that  I  might  imagine  he  had  an  ob 
jection  from  a  little  discussion  we  had 
about  inviting  him  ;  and  afterwards,  as 
if  to  make  up  for  that,  he  placed  this 
guest  at  his  left  hand." 

Stratton  quickly  glanced  up  the 
page  of  his  note-book,  and  marked  a 
little  cross  before  the  name  of  Ste 
phen  Roland. 

"You    had     another     disagreement 


"4  fftom  Wbose  Bourne. 

with  him  before,  if  I  might  term  it  so, 
had  you  not  ?  " 

Mrs.  Brenton  looked  at  him  sur 
prised. 

"  What  makes  you  think  so  ?  "  she 
said. 

"Because  you  hesitated  when  I 
spoke  of  it." 

"  Well,  we  had  what  you  might  call 
a  disagreement  once  at  Lucerne, 
Switzerland." 

"  Will  you  tell  me  what  it  ^was 
about?" 

"I  would  rather  not." 

"Will  you  tell  me  this — was  it 
about  a  gentleman  ?  " 

"Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Brenton. 

"  Was  your  husband  of  a  jealous 
disposition  ?  " 

"  Ordinarily  I  do  not  think  he  was. 
It  seemed  to  me  at  the  time  that  he 
was  a  little  unjust — that's  all." 

"  Was  the  gentleman  in  Lucerne  ?  " 

"Oh  no!" 

"In  Cincinnati?" 


ffrom  TIClbose  Bourne*  115 

"Yes." 

"Was  his  name  Stephen  Roland?  " 

Mrs.  Brenton  again  glanced  quickly 
at  the  newspaper  man,  and  seemed 
about  to  say  something,  but,  checking 
herself,  she  simply  answered — 

"Yes." 

Then  she  leaned  back  in  the  [arm 
chair  and  sighed. 

"  I  am  very  tired,"  she  said.  "  If  it 
is  not  absolutely  necessary,  I  prefer 
not  to  continue  this  conversation." 

Stratton  immediately  rose. 

"  Madam,"  he  said,  "  I  am  very  much 
obliged  to  you  for  the  trouble  you 
have  taken  to  answer  my  questions, 
which  I  am  afraid  must  have  seemed 
impertinent  to  you,  but  I  assure  you 
that  I  did  not  intend  them  to  be  so. 
Now,  madam,  I  would  like  very  much 
to  get  a  promise  from  you.  I  wish 
that  you  would  promise  to  see  me  if  I 
call  again,  and  I,  on  my  part,  assure 
you  that  unless  I  have  something 
particularly  important  to  tell  you,  or 


n6  afrom  TJClbose  Bourne* 

to  ask,  I  shall  not  intrude  upon 
you." 

"  I  shall  be  pleased  to  see  you  at 
any  time,  sir." 

When  the  sheriff  and  the  newspa 
per  man  reached  the  other  room,  the 
former  said — 

"  Well,  what  do  you  think  ?  " 

"  I  think  it  is  an  interesting  case," 
was  the  answer. 

"  Or,  to  put  it  in  other  words,  you 
think  Mrs.  Brenton  a  very  interesting 
lady." 

"  Officially,  sir,  you  have  exactly 
stated  my  opinion." 

"  And  I  suppose,  poor  woman,  she 
will  furnish  an  interesting  article  for 
the  paper  ?  " 

"  Hang  the  paper  !  "  said  Stratton, 
with  more  than  his  usual  vim. 

The  sheriff  laughed.     Then  he  said — 

"  I  confess  that  to  me  it  seems  a 
very  perplexing  affair  all  through. 
Have  you  got  any  light  on  the  sub 
ject?" 


ffrom  laabose  Bourne,  n; 

"  My  dear  sir,  I  will  tell  you  three 
important  things.  First,  Mrs.  Brenton 
is  innocent.  Second,  her  lawyers  are 
taking  the  wrong  line  of  defence. 
Third,"  tapping  his  breast-pocket,  "  I 
have  the  name  of  the  murderer  in  my 
note-book." 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

"  Now/'  said  John  Speed  to  William 
Brenton,  "  we  have  got  Stratton  fairly 
started  on  the  track,  and  I  believe  that 
he  will  ferret  out  the  truth  in  this  mat 
ter.  But,  meanwhile,  we  must  not  be 
idle.  You  must  remember  that,  with 
all  our  facilities  for  discovery,  we 
really  know  nothing  of  the  murderer 
ourselves.  I  propose  we  set  about 
this  thing  just  as  systematically  as 
Stratton  will.  The  chances  are  that 
we  shall  penetrate  the  mystery  of  the 
whole  affair  very  much  quicker  than 
he.  As  I  told  you  before,  I  am  some 
thing  of  a  newspaper  man  myself; 
and  if,  with  the  facilities  of  getting  in 
to  any  room  in  any  house,  in  any  city 
and  in  any  country,  and  being  with  a 


ffrom  TDQlbose  Bourne*  119 

suspected  criminal  night  and  day  when 
he  never  imagines  any  one  is  near  him 
— if  with  all  those  advantages  I  cannot 
discover  the  real  author  of  that  crime 
before  George  Stratton  does,  then  I'll 
never  admit  that  I  came  from  Chicago, 
or  belonged  to  a  newspaper.'* 

"  Whom  do  you  think  Stratton  sus 
pects  of  the  crime?  He  told  the 
sheriff,"  said  Brenton,  "that  he  had 
the  name  in  his  pocket-book." 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Speed,  "  but  I 
have  my  suspicions.  You  see,  he  ^has 
the  names  of  all  the  guests  at  your 
banquet  in  that  pocket-book  of  his ; 
but  the  name  of  Stephen  Roland  he 
has  marked  with  two  crosses.  The 
name  of  the  servant  he  has  marked 
with  one  cross.  Now,  I  suspect  that 
he  believes  Stephen  Roland  committed 
the  crime.  You  know  Roland  ;  what 
do  you  think  of  him  ?" 

"  I  think  he  is  quite  capable  of  it," 
answered  Brenton,  with  a  frown. 

"  Still,    you    are   prejudiced   against 


320  ffrom  TKflbose  JSourne. 

the  man,"  put  in  Speed,  "  so  your  evi 
dence  is  hardly  impartial." 

"  I  am  not  prejudiced  against  any 
one,"  answered  Brenton ;  "  I  merely 
know  that  man.  He  is  a  thoroughly 
despicable,  cowardly  character.  The 
only  thing  that  makes  me  think  he 
would  not  commit  a  murder,  is  that  he 
is  too  craven  to  stand  the  consequences 
if  he  were  caught.  He  is  a  cool  villain, 
but  he  is  a  coward.  I  do  not  believe 
he  has  the  courage  to  commit  a  crime, 
even  if  he  thought  he  would  benefit  by 
it." 

"Well,  there  is  one  thing,  Brenton, 
you  can't  be  accused  of  flattering  a 
man,  and  if  it  is  any  consolation  for 
you  to  know,  you  may  be  pretty  cer 
tain  that  George  Stratton  is  on  his 
track." 

"  I  am  sure  I  wish  him  success," 
answered  Brenton,  gloomily  ;  "  if  he 
brings  Roland  to  the  gallows  I  shall 
not  mourn  over  it." 

"  That's  all  right,"  said  Speed  ;  "  but 


ffrom  TDdbose  JSourne*  121 

now  we  must  be  up  and  doing  ourselves. 
Have  you  anything  to  propose?*' 

"  No,  I  have  not,  except  that  we 
might  play  the  detective  on  Roland." 

"  Well,  the  trouble  with  that  is  we 
would  merely  be  duplicating  what 
Stratton  is  doing  himself.  Now,  I'll 
tell  you  my  proposal.  Supposing  that 
we  consult  with  Lecocq." 

"  Who  is  that  ?     The  novelist  ?  " 

"Novelist?  I  don't  think  he  has 
ever  written  any  novels — not  that  I 
remember  of." 

"  Ah,  I  didn't  know.  It  seemed  to 
me  that  I  remembered  his  name  in 
connection  with  some  novel." 

"  Oh,  very    likely   you    did.      He    is 
the  hero  of  more  detective  stories  than 
any  other  man  I  know  of.     He  was  the 
great  French  detective." 
u  "What,  is  he  dead,  then?" 
'  "  Dead?     Not  a  tit  of  it ;  he's  here 
with  us.     Oh,  I   understand  what    you 
mean.     Yes,  from  your  point  of  view, 
he  is  dead." 


i22  ffrom  TIGlbose  Bourne* 

"  Where  can  we  find  him  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  presume,  in  Paris.  He's  a 
first-rate  fellow  to  know,  anyhow,  and 
he  spends  most  of  his  time  around  his 
old  haunts.  In  fact,  if  you  want  to  be 
certain  to  find  Lecocq,  you  will  gener 
ally  get  him  during  office  hours  in  the 
room  he  used  to  frequent  while  in 
Paris." 

"  Let  us  go  and  see  him,  then/* 
***#•<*# 

"  Monsieur  Lecocq/'  said  Speed,  a 
moment  afterwards,  "  I  wish  to  intro 
duce  to  you  a  new-comer,  Mr.  Brenton, 
recently  of  Cincinnati." 

"  Ah,  my  dear  Speed,"  said  the 
Frenchman,  "  I  am  very  pleased  indeed 
to  meet  any  friend  of  yours.  How  is 
the  great  Chicago,  the  second  Paris, 
and  how  is  your  circulation  ? — the 
greatest  in  the  world,  I  suppose." 

"  Well,  it  is  in  pretty  good  order," 
said  Speed ;  "  we  circulated  from 
Chicago  to  Paris  here  in  a  very  much 
shorter  time  than  the  journey  usually 


ffrom  TlBlbose  JSourne.  123 

occupies  down  below.  Now,  can  you 
give  us  a  little  of  your  time?  Are  you 
busy  just  now?" 

"  My  dear  Speed,  I  am  always  busy. 
I  am  like  the  people  of  the  second 
Paris.  I  lose  no  time,  but  I  have 
always  time  to  speak  with  my  friends." 

"All  right,"  said  Speed.  "I  am 
like  the  people  of  the  second  Chicago, 
generally  more  intent  on  pleasure  than 
business ;  but,  nevertheless,  I  have  a 
piece  of  business  for  you." 

"  The  second  Chicago  ? "  asked 
Lecocq.  "  And  where  is  that,  pray  ?  " 

"  Why,  Paris,  of  course,"  said  Speed. 

Lecocq  laughed. 

"  You  are  incorrigible,  you  Chica- 
goans.  And  what  is  the  piece  of 
business?  " 

"  It  is  the  old  thing,  monsieur.  A 
mystery  to  be  unravelled.  Mr.  Bren- 
ton  here  wishes  to  retain  you  in  his 
case." 

"  And  what  is  his  case  ?  "  was  the 
answer. 


124  ffrom  TlClbose  JSourne, 

Lecocq  was  evidently  pleased  to 
have  a  bit  of  real  work  given  him. 

Speed  briefly  recited  the  facts, 
Brenton  correcting  him  now  and  then 
on  little  points  where  he  was  wrong. 
Speed  seemed  to  think  these  points 
immaterial,  but  Lecocq  said  that 
attention  to  trivialities  was  the  whole 
secret  of  the  detective  business. 

"  Ah/'  said  Lecocq,  sorrowfully, 
"  there  is  no  real  trouble  in  elucidating 
that  mystery.  I  hoped  it  would  be 
something  difficult ;  but,  you  see,  with 
my  experience  of  the  old  world,  and 
with  the  privileges  one  enjoys  in  this 
world,  things  which  might  be  difficult 
to  one  below  are  very  easy  for  us. 
Now,  I  shall  show  you  how  simple  it 
is." 

"  Good  gracious  !  "  cried  Speed, 
"  you  don't  mean  to  say  you  are  going 
to  read  it  right  off  the  reel,  like  that, 
when  we  have  been  bothering  ourselves 
with  it  so  long,  and  without  success  ?  " 

"  At  the  moment,"  replied  the  French 


ffrom  TJdbose  Bourne.  125 

detective,  "  I  am  not  prepared  to  say 
who  committed  the  deed.  That  is  a 
matter  of  detail.  Now,  let  us  see 
what  we  know,  and  arrive,  from  that, 
at  what  we  do  not  know.  The  one 
fact,  of  which  we  are  assured  on  the 
statement  of  two  physicians  from  Cin 
cinnati,  is  that  Mr.  Brenton  was  poi 
soned." 

"Well,"  said  Speed,  "  there  are 
several  other  facts,  too.  Another  fact 
is  that  Mrs.  Brenton  is  accused  of  the 
crime/* 

"  Ah !  my  dear  sir/'  said  Lecocq, 
"  that  is  not  pertinent." 

"No,"  said  Speed,  "I  agree  with 
you.  I  call  it  very  impertinent." 

Brenton  frowned  at  this,  and  his 
old  dislike  to  the  flippant  Chicago  man 
rose  to  the  surface  again. 

The  Frenchman  continued  marking 
the  points  on  his  long  forefinger. 

"  Now,  there  are  two  ways  by  which 
that  result  may  have  been  attained. 
First,  Mr.  Brenton  may  have  admin- 


i26  ffrom  TUHbose  JBourne* 

istered  to  himself  the  poison  ;  secondly, 
the  poison  may  have  been  administered 
by  some  one  else." 

"Yes,"  said  Speed;  "and,  thirdly, 
the  poison  may  have  been  administered 
accidentally — you  do  not  seem  to  take 
that  into  account/' 

"  I  do  not  take  that  into  account," 
calmly  replied  the  Frenchman,  "  be 
cause  of  its  improbability.  If  there 
were  an  accident ;  if,  for  instance,  the 
poison  was  in  the  sugar,  or  in  some  of 
the  viands  served,  then  others  than 
Mr.  Brenton  would  have  been  poisoned. 
The  fact  that  one  man  out  of  twenty- 
six  was  poisoned,  and  the  fact  that 
several  people  are  to  benefit  by  his 
death,  point,  it  seems  to  me,  to  mur 
der  ;  but  to  be  sure  of  that,  I  will  ask 
Mr.  Brenton  one  question.  My  dear 
sir,  did  you  administer  this  poison  to 
yourself?" 

"  Certainly  not,"  answered  Brenton. 

"Then  we  have  two  facts.  First, 
Mr.  Brenton  was  poisoned ;  secondly, 


ffrom  TlClbose  Bourne.  127 

he  was  poisoned  by  some  person  who 
had  an  interest  in  his  death.  Now  we 
will  proceed.  When  Mr.  Brenton  sat 
down  to  that  dinner  he  was  perfectly 
well.  When  he  arose  from  that  dinner 
he  was  feeling  ill.  He  goes  to  bed.  He 
sees  no  one  but  his  wife  after  he  has  left 
the  dinner-table,  and  he  takes  nothing 
between  the  time  he  leaves  the  dinner- 
table  and  the  moment  he  becomes  un 
conscious.  Now,  that  poison  must  have 
been  administered  to  Mr.  Brenton  at  the 
dinner-table.  Am  I  not  right  ?  " 

"  Well,  you  seem  to  be/'  answered 
Speed. 

"  Seem  ?  Why,  it  is  as  plain  as  day. 
There  cannot  be  any  mistake." 

"All  right/'  said  Speed  ;  "  go  ahead. 
What  next  ?  " 

"  What  next  ?  There  were  twenty, 
six  people  around  that  table,  with  two 
servants  to  wait  on  them,  making 
twenty-eight  in  all.  There  were 
twenty-six,  I  think  you  said,  including 
Mr.  Brenton." 


i28  ffrom  *WHbo0c  Bourne. 

"  That  is  correct/' 

"  Very  well.  One  of  those  twenty- 
seven  persons  has  poisoned  Mr.  Bren- 
ton.  Do  you  follow  me  ?  " 

"  We  do/'  answered  Speed  ;  "  we 
follow  you  as  closely  as  you  have  ever 
followed  a  criminal.  Go  on." 

"  Very  well,  so  much  is  clear. 
These  are  all  facts,  not  theories. 
Now,  what  is  the  thing  that  I  should 
do  if  I  were  in  Cincinnati?  I  would 
find  out  whether  one  or  more  of 
those  guests  had  anything  to  gain  by 
the  death  of  their  host.  That  done, 
I  would  follow  the  suspected  persons. 
I  would  have  my  men  find  out  what 
each  of  them  had  done  for  a  month 
before  the  time  of  the  crime.  Who 
ever  committed  it  made  some  prep 
aration.  He  did  something,  too, 
as  you  say,  in  America,  to  cover  up 
his  tracks.  Very  well.  By  the  keen 
detective  these  actions  are  easily 
traced.  I  shall  at  once  place  twenty- 
seven  of  the  best  men  I  know 


ffrom  inaboee  JBourne,  129 

on  the  track  of  those  twenty-seven 
persons." 

"  I  call  that  shadowing  with  a  ven 
geance/'  remarked  the  Chicago  man. 

"  It  will  be  very  easy.  The  one  who 
has  committed  the  crime  is  certain, 
when  he  is  alone  in  his  own  room,  to 
say  something,  or  to  do  something, 
that  will  show  my  detective  that  he  is 
the  criminal.  So,  gentlemen,  if  you 
can  tell  me  who  those  twenty-seven 
persons  are,  in  three  days  or  a  week 
from  this  time  I  will  tell  you  who  gave 
the  poison  to  Mr.  Brenton." 

"You  seem  very  sure  of  that,"  said 
Speed. 

"Sure  of  it?  It  is  simply  child's 
play.  It  is  mere  waiting.  If,  for  in 
stance,  at  the  trial  Mrs.  Brenton  is 
found  guilty,  and  sentenced,  the  one 
who  is  the  guilty  party  is  certain  to  be 
tray  himself  or  herself  as  soon  as  he 
or  she  is  alone.  If  it  be  a  man  who 
hopes  to  marry  Mrs.  Brenton,  he  will 
be  overcome  with  grief  at  what  has 


130  ffrom  llHlbose  JSourne* 

happened.  He  will  wring  his  hands 
and  try  to  think  what  can  be  done  to 
prevent  the  sentence  being  carried  out. 
He  will  argue  with  himself  whether  it 
is  better  to  give  himself  up  and  tell  the 
truth,  and  if  he  is  a  coward  he  will 
conclude  not  to  do  that,  but  will  try 
to  get  a  pardon,  or  at  least  have  the 
capital  punishment  commuted  into 
life  imprisonment.  He  will  possibly 
be  cool  and  calm  in  public,  but  when 
he  enters  his  own  room,  when  his  door 
is  locked,  when  he  believes  no  one  can 
see  him,  when  he  thinks  he  is  alone, 
then  will  come  his  trial.  Then  his 
passions  and  his  emotions  will  betray 
him.  It  is  mere  child's  play,  as  I  tell 
you,  and  long  before  there  is  a  verdict 
I  will  give  you  the  name  of  the  mur 
derer." 

"Very  well,  then/'  said  Speed, 
"  that  is  agreed  ;  we  will  look  you  up 
in  a  week  from  now." 

"  I  should  be  pained,"  said  Lecocq, 
"  to  put  you  to  that  trouble.  As  soon 


3from  TKHbose  JSourne*  131 

as  I  get  the  report  from  my  men  I  will 
communicate  with  you  and  let  you 
know  the  result.  In  a  few  days  I  shall 
give  you  the  name  of  the  assassin. " 

"  Good-bye,  then,  until  I  see  you 
again,"  answered  Speed ;  and  with 
this  he  and  Brenton  took  their  depar 
ture. 

"  He  seems  to  be  very  sure  of  him 
self/'  said  Brenton. 

"  He  will  do  what  he  says,  you  may 
depend  on  that." 

The  week  was  not  yet  up  when 
Monsieur  Lecocq  met  John  Speed  in 
Chicago. 

"  By  the  look  of  satisfaction  on 
your  face,"  said  Mr.  Speed,  "  I  imag 
ine  you  have  succeeded  in  unravelling 
the  mystery." 

"Ah,"  replied  the  Frenchman;  "if 
I  have  the  appearance  of  satisfaction, 
it  is  indeed  misplaced." 

"Then  you  have  not  made  any  dis 
covery?" 

"  On  the  contrary,  it  is  all  as    plain 


132  ffrom  "HClbose  JSourne* 

as  your  big  buildings  here.  It  is  not 
for  that  reason,  but  because  it  is  so  sim 
ple  that  I  should  be  foolish  to  feel  sat 
isfaction  regarding  it." 

"  Then  who  is  the  person  ?  " 
"  The  assassin,"  replied  the  French 
man,  "  is  one  whom  no  one  has 
seemed  to  think  of,  and  yet  one  on 
whom  suspicion  should  have  been  the 
first  to  fall.  The  person  who  did 
Monsieur  Brenton  the  honor  to  poison 
him  is  none  other  than  the  servant 
girl,  Jane  Morton." 


CHAPTER  IX. 

"  JANE  MORTON  !  "  cried  Speed  ; 
"  who  is  she  ?  " 

"  She  is,  as  you  may  remember,  the 
girl  who  carried  the  coffee  from  Mrs. 
Brenton  to  monsieur/' 

"  And  are  you  sure  she  is  the  crim 
inal?  " 

The  great  detective  did  not  answer ; 
he  merely  gave  an  expressive  little 
French  gesture,  as  though  the  ques 
tion  was  not  worth  commenting  upon. 

"  Why,  what  was  her  motive  ? " 
asked  Speed. 

For  the  first  time  in  their  acquain 
tance  a  shade  of  perplexity  seemed  to 
come  over  the  enthusiastic  face  of  the 
volatile  Frenchman. 

"  You  are  what  you  call   smart,  you 


134  ffcom  Tldbose  bourne* 

Chicago  people/'  he  said,  "  and  you 
have  in  a  moment  struck  the  only- 
point  on  which  we  are  at  a  loss.'* 

"  My  dear  sir,"  returned  Speed,  "that 
is  the  point  in  the  case.  Motive  is  the 
first  thing  to  look  for,  it  seems  to  me. 
You  said  as  much  yourself.  If  you 
haven't  succeeded  in  rinding  what  mo 
tive  Jane  Morton  had  for  poisoning 
her  employer,  it  appears  to  me  that 
very  little  has  been  accomplished." 

"  Ah,  you  say  that  before  you  know 
the  particulars.  I  am  certain  we  shall 
find  the  motive.  What  I  know  now 
is  that  Jane  Morton  is  the  one  who 
put  the  poison  in  his  cup  of  coffee." 

"  It  would  take  a  good  deal  of  nerve 
to  do  that  with  twenty-six  people 
around  the  table.  You  forget,  my 
dear  sir,  that  she  had  to  pass  the 
whole  length  of  the  table,  after  taking 
the  cup,  before  giving  it  to  Mr.  Bren- 
ton." 

"  Half  of  the  people  had  their  backs 
to  her,  and  the  other  half,  I  can  assure 


ffrom  Wbose  ^Bourne*          135 

you,  were  not  looking  at  her.  If  the 
poison  was  ready,  it  was  a  very  easy 
thing  to  slip  it  into  a  cup.  of  coffee. 
There  was  ample  time  to  do  it,  and 
that  is  how  it  was  done." 

"  May  I  ask  how  you  arrived  at  that 
conclusion?  " 

"Certainly,  certainly,  my  dear  sir. 
My  detectives  report  that  each  one  of 
the  twenty-seven  people  they  had 
to  follow  were  shadowed  night  and 
day.  But  only  two  of  them  acted  suspi 
ciously.  These  two  were  Jane  Morton 
and  Stephen  Roland.  Stephen  Rol 
and's  anxiety  is  accounted  for  by  the 
fact  that  he  is  evidently  in  love  with 
Mrs.  Brenton.  But  the  change  in  Jane 
Morton  has  been  something  terrible. 
She  is  suffering  from  the  severest 
pangs  of  ineffectual  remorse.  She 
has  not  gone  out  again  to  service,  but 
occupies  a  room  in  one  of  the  poorer 
quarters  of  the  city — a  room  that  she 
never  leaves  except  at  night.  Her 
whole  actions  show  that  she  is  afraid  of 


136  ffrom  TDdbose  JSourne, 

the  police — afraid  of  being  tracked  for 
her  crime.  She  buys  a  newspaper 
every  night,  and  locks  and  bars  the  door 
on  entering  her  room,  and,  with  tears 
streaming  from  her  eyes,  reads  every 
word  of  the  criminal  news.  One  night, 
when  she  went  out  to  buy  her  paper, 
and  what  food  she  needed  for  the  next 
day,  she  came  unexpectedly  upon  a  po 
liceman  at  the  corner.  The  man  was 
not  looking  at  her  at  all,  nor  for  her,  but 
she  fled,  running  like  a  deer,  doubling 
and  turning  through  alleys  and  back 
streets  until  by  a  very  round-about 
road  she  reached  her  own  room. 
There  she  locked  herself  in,  and  re 
mained  without  food  all  next  day 
rather  than  go  out  again.  She  flung 
herself  terror-stricken  on  the  bed, 
after  her  room  door  was  bolted,  and 
cried,  '  Oh,  why  did  I  do  it  ?  why  did 
I  do  it  ?  I  shall  certainly  be  found 
out.  If  Mrs.  Brenton  is  acquitted, 
they  will  be  after  me  next  day.  I  did 
it  to  make  up  to  John  what  he  had 


tfrom  Tldbose  JSourne.  137 

suffered,  and  yet  if  John  knew  it,  he 
would  never  speak  to  me  again/ 

"  Who  is  John?"  asked  Speed. 

"Ah,  that,"  said  the  detective,  "  I 
do  not  know.  When  we  find  out  who 
John  is,  then  we  shall  find  the  motive 
for  the  crime." 

"  In  that  case,  if  I  were  you,  I 
should  try  to  find  John  as  quickly  as 
possible." 

"Yes,  my  dear  sir,  that  is  exactly 
what  should  be  done,  and  my  detec 
tive  is  now  endeavoring  to  discover  the 
identity  of  John.  He  will  possibly 
succeed  in  a  few  days.  But  there  is 
another  way  of  finding  out  who  John 
is,  and  perhaps  in  that  you  can  help 
me." 

"What  other  way?" 

"There  is  one  man  who  undoubt 
edly  knows  who  John  is,  and  that  is 
Mr.  Brenton.  Now,  I  thought  that 
perhaps  you,  who  know  Brenton  bet 
ter  than  I  do,  would  not  mind  asking 
him  who  John  is." 


138  ffrom  Tldbose  JSoutnc* 

"  My  dear  sir,"  said  Speed,  "  Bren- 
ton  is  no  particular  friend  of  mine,  and 
I  only  know  him  well  enough  to  feel 
that  if  there  is  any  cross-examination 
to  be  done,  I  should  prefer  somebody 
else  to  do  it." 

"  Why,  you  are  not  afraid  of  him, 
are  you  ?  "  asked  the  detective. 

"Afraid  of  him  ?  Certainly  not,  but 
I  tell  you  that  Brenton  is  just  a  little 
touchy  and  apt  to  take  offence.  I 
have  found  him  so  on  several  occasions. 
Now,  as  you  have  practically  taken 
charge  of  this  case,  why  don't  you  go 
and  see  him  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  I  shall  have  to  do  that," 
said  the  Frenchman,  "  if  you  will  not 
undertake  it." 

"  No,  I  will  not." 

"You  have  no  objection,  have  you, 
to  going  with  me?  " 

"  It  is  better  for  you  to  see  Brenton 
alone.  I  do  not  think  he  would  care 
to  be  cross-examined  before  witnesses, 
you  know." 


ffrom  THHbose  Bourne*  139 

"Ah,  then,  good-bye;  I  shall  find 
out  from  Mr.  Brenton  who  John  is." 

"  I  am  sure  I  wish  you  luck,"  re 
plied  Speed,  as  Lecocq  took  his  de 
parture. 

Lecocq  found  Brenton  and  Ferris 
together.  The  cynical  spirit  seemed 
to  have  been  rather  sceptical  about  the 
accounts  given  him  of  the  influence 
that  Speed  and  Brenton,  combined, 
had  had  upon  the  Chicago  newspaper 
man.  Yet  he  was  interested  in  the 
case,  and  although  he  still  maintained 
that  no  practical  good  would  result, 
even  if  a  channel  of  communication 
could  be  opened  between  the  two  states 
of  existence,  he  had  listened  with  his 
customary  respect  to  what  Brenton 
had  to  say. 

"  Ah,"  said  Brenton,  when  he  saw 
the  Frenchman,  "  have  you  any  news 
for  me?  " 

"  Yes,  I  have.  I  have  news  that 
I  will  exchange,  but  meanwhile  I  want 
some  news  from  you." 


140  ffrom  lilUbose  JBoutne. 

"  I  have  none  to  give  you/'  answered 
Brenton. 

"  If  you  have  not,  will  you  undertake 
to  answer  any  questions  I  shall  ask  you, 
and  not  take  offence  if  the  questions 
seem  to  be  personal  ones?" 

"  Certainly/'  said  Brenton  ;  "  I  shall 
be  glad  to  answer  anything  as  long  as 
it  has  a  bearing  on  the  case/' 

"  Very  well,  then,  it  has  a  very  dis 
tinct  bearing  on  the  case.  Do  you  re 
member  the  girl  Jane  Morton  ?  " 

"  I  remember  her,  of  course,  as  one 
of  the  servants  in  our  employ.  I  know 
very  little  about  her,  though." 

"  That  is  just  what  I  wish  to  find  out. 
Do  you  know  anything  about  her?" 

"  No ;  she  had  been  in  our  employ 
but  a  fortnight,  I  think,  or  perhaps  it 
was  a  month.  My  wife  attended  to 
these  details,  of  course.  I  knew  the 
girl  was  there,  that  is  all." 

The  Frenchman  looked  very  dubius 
as  Brenton  said  this,  while  the  latter 
rather  bridled  up. 


ffrom  TKabose  JSourne,  HI 

"  You  evidently  do  not  believe  me  ?  " 
he  cried. 

Once  more  the  detective  gave  his 
customary  gesture,  and  said — 

"  Ah,  pardon  me,  you  are  entirely 
mistaken.  I  have  this  to  acquaint 
you  with.  Jane  Morton  is  the  one 
who  murdered  you.  She  did  it,  she 
says,  partly  for  the  sake  of  John,  who 
ever  he  is,  and  partly  out  of  revenge. 
Now,  of  course,  you  are  the  only  man 
who  can  give  me  information  as  to  the 
motive.  That  girl  certainly  had  a  mo 
tive,  and  I  should  like  to  find  out  what 
the  motive  was." 

Brenton  meditated  for  a  few  mo 
ments,  and  then  suddenly  brightened 
up. 

"  I  remember,  now,  an  incident 
which  happened  a  week  or  two  before 
Christmas,  which  may  have  a  bearing 
on  the  case.  One  night  I  heard — or 
thought  I  heard — a  movement  down 
stairs,  when  I  supposed  everybody  had 
retired.  I  took  a  revolver  in  my  hand, 


M2  fftom  Tidbose  JBourne* 

and  went  cautiously  down  the  stairs. 
Of  course  I  had  no  light,  because,  if 
there  was  a  burglar,  I  did  not  wish  to 
make  myself  too  conspicuous  a  mark. 
As  I  went  along  the  hall  leading  to  the 
kitchen,  I  saw  there  was  a  light  inside; 
but  as  soon  as  they  heard  me  coming, 
the  light  was  put  out.  When  I  reached 
the  kitchen,  I  noticed  a  man  trying  to 
escape  through  the  door  that  led  to 
the  coalshed.  I  fired  at  him  twice,  and 
he  sank  to  the  floor  with  a  groan.  I 
thought  I  had  bagged  a  burglar  sure, 
but  it  turned  out  to  be  nothing  of  the 
kind.  He  was  merely  a  young  man 
who  had  been  rather  late  visiting  one 
of  the  girls.  I  suspect  now  the  girl  he 
came  to  see  was  Jane  Morton.  As  it 
was,  the  noise  brought  the  two  girls 
there,  and  I  never  investigated  the 
matter  or  tried  to  find  out  which  one 
it  was  that  he  had  been  visiting.  They 
were  both  terror-stricken,  and  the 
young  man  himself  was  in  a  state  of 
great  fear.  He  thought  for  a  moment 


ffrom  TKHbose  JBourne.  143 

that  he  had  been  killed.  However, 
he  was  only  shot  in  the  leg,  and  I  sent 
him  to  the  house  of  a  physician  who 
keeps  such  patients  as  do  not  wish  to 
go  to  the  hospital.  I  did  not  care 
to  have  him  go  to  the  hospital,  because 
I  was  afraid  the  newspapers  would  get 
hold  of  the  incident,  and  make  a  sen 
sation  of  it.  The  whole  thing  was  ac 
cidental  ;  the  young  fellow  realized 
that,  and  so,  I  thought,  did  the  girls  ; 
at  least,  I  never  noticed  anything  in 
their  behaviour  to  show  the  contrary/' 

"  What  sort  of  a  looking  girl  is  Jane 
Morton  ?  "  asked  Ferris. 

"  She  is  a  tall  brunette,  with  snap 
ping  black  eyes." 

"Ah,  then,  I  remember  her  going* 
into  the  room  where  you  lay/'  said 
Ferris,  "  on  Christmas  morning.  It 
struck  me  when  she  came  out  that  she 
was  very  cool  and  self-possessed,  and 
not  at  all  surprised." 

"All  I  can  say,"  said  Brenton,  "is 
that  I  never  noticed  anything  in  her 


M4  ffrom  TiXIlbose  Bourne* 

conduct  like  resentment  at  what  had 
happened.  I  intended  to  give  the 
young-  fellow  a  handsome  compensa 
tion  for  his  injury,  but  of  course  what 
occurred  on  Christmas  Eve  prevented 
that.  I  had  really  forgotten  all  about 
the  circumstance,  or  I  should  have 
told  you  of  it  before.'* 

"Then,"  said  Lecocq,  "the  thing 
now  is  perfectly  clear.  That  black- 
eyed  vixen  murdered  you  out  of  re 
venge." 


CHAPTER    X. 

IT  was  evident  to  George  Stratton 
that  he  would  have  no  time  before  the 
trial  came  off  in  which  to  prove  Stephen 
Roland  the  guilty  person.  Besides 
this,  he  was  in  a  strange  state  of  mind 
which  he  himself  could  not  understand. 
The  moment  he  sat  down  to  think  out 
a  plan  by  which  he  could  run  down  the 
man  he  was  confident  had  committed 
the  crime,  a  strange  wavering  of  mind 
came  over  him.  Something  seemed  to 
say  to  him  that  he  was  on  the  wrong 
track.  This  became  so  persistent  that 
George  was  bewildered,  and  seriously 
questioned  his  own  sanity.  Whenever 
he  sat  alone  in  his  own  room,  the 
doubts  arose,  and  a  feeling  that  he  was 


146  ffrom  Wbose  Bourne* 

on  the  wrong  scent  took  possession  of 
him.  This  feeling  became  so  strong 
at  times  that  he  looked  up  other  clues, 
and  at  one  time  tried  to  find  out  the 
whereabouts  of  the  servant  girls  who 
had  been  employed  by  the  Brentons. 
Curiously  enough,  the  moment  he  be 
gan  this  search,  his  mind  seemed  to 
become  clearer  and  easier ;  and  when 
that  happened,  the  old  belief  in  the 
guilt  of  Stephen  Roland  resumed  its 
sway  again.  But  the  instant  he  tried 
to  follow  up  what  clues  he  had  in  that 
direction,  he  found  himself  baffled  and 
assailed  again  by  doubts,  and  so  every 
effort  he  put  forth  appeared  to  be  nul 
lified.  This  state  of  mind  was  so  un 
usual  with  him  that  he  had  serious 
thoughts  of  abandoning  the  whole  case 
and  going  back  to  Chicago.  He  said 
to  himself,  "  I  am  in  love  with  this 
woman,  and  I  shall  go  crazy  if  I  stay 
here  any  longer."  Then  he  remem 
bered  the  trust  she  appeared  to  have 
in  his  powers  of  ferreting  out  the  mys- 


ffrom  TCdbose  JSourne.  147 

tery  of  the  case,  and  this  in  turn 
encouraged  him  and  urged  him  on. 

All  trace  of  the  girls  appeared  to  be 
lost.  He  hesitated  to  employ  a  Cin 
cinnati  detective,  fearing  that  what  he 
discovered  would  be  given  away  to  the 
Cincinnati  press.  Then  he  accused 
himself  of  disloyalty  to  Mrs.  Brenton, 
in  putting  his  newspaper  duty  before 
his  duty  to  her.  He  was  so  torn 
by  his  conflicting  ideas  and  emotions 
that  at  last  he  resolved  to  abandon 
the  case  altogether  and  return  to  Chi 
cago.  He  packed  up  his  valise  and 
resolved  to  leave  that  night  for  the  big 
city,  trial  or  no  trial.  He  had  de 
scribed  his  symptoms  to  a  prominent 
physician,  and  that  physician  told  him 
that  the  case  was  driving  him  mad, 
and  the  best  thing  he  could  do  was 
to  leave  at  once  for  other  scenes.  He 
could  do  no  good,  and  would  perhaps 
end  by  going  insane  himself. 

As  George  Stratton  was  packing 
his  valise  in  his  room,  alone,  as  he 


148  3from  'OTbose  bourne. 

thought,  the  following  conversation 
was  taking  place  beside  him. 

"  It  is  no  use,"  said  Speed  ;  "  we  are 
merely  muddling  him,  and  not  doing 
any  good.  The  only  thing  is  to  leave 
him  alone.  If  he  investigates  the 
Roland  part  of  the  case  he  will  soon 
find  out  for  himself  that  he  is  on  the 
wrong  track;  then  he  will  take  the 
right  one." 

"  Yes,"  said  Brenton  ;  "  but  the 
case  comes  on  in  a  few  days.  If  any 
thing  is  to  be  done,  it  must  be  done 
nowr." 

"  In  that  I  do  not  agree  with  you," 
said  Speed.  "  Perhaps  everything  will 
go  all  right  at  the  trial,  but  even  if  it 
does  not,  there  is  still  a  certain  amount 
of  time.  You  see  how  we  have  spoiled 
things  by  interfering.  Our  first  success 
with  him  has  misled  us.  We  thought 
we  could  do  anything  ;  we  have  really 
done  worse  than  nothing,  because  all 
this  valuable  time  has  been  lost.  If 
he  had  been  allowed  to  proceed  in  his 


from  TSJlbose  JBourne.  149 

own  way  he  would  have  ferreted  out 
the  matter  as  far  as  Stephen  Roland  is 
concerned,  and  would  have  found  that 
there  was  no  cause  for  his  suspicion. 
As  it  is  he  has  done  nothing.  He  still 
believes,  if  left  alone,  that  Stephen 
Roland  is  the  criminal.  All  our  efforts 
to  lead  him  to  the  residence  of  Jane 
Morton  have  been  unavailing.  Now, 
you  see,  he  is  on  the  eve  of  going 
back  to  Chicago." 

"  Well,  then,  let  him  go,"  said  Bren- 
ton,  despondently. 

"  With  all  my  heart,  say  I,"  an 
swered  Speed  ;  "  but  in  any  case  let  us 
leave  him  alone." 

Before  the  train  started  that  night 
Stratton  said  to  himself  that  he  was  a 
new  man.  Richard  was  himself  again. 
He  was  thoroughly  convinced  of  the 
guilt  of  Stephen  Roland,  and  wondered 
why  he  had  allowed  his  mind  to  wan 
der  off  the  topic  and  waste  time  with 
other  suspicions,  for  which  he  now  saw 
there  was  no  real  excuse.  He  had  not 


is°  ffrom  Wbose  JSourne* 

the  time,  he  felt,  to  investigate  the 
subject  personally,  but  he  flattered 
himself  he  knew  exactly  the  man  to 
put  on  Roland's  track,  and,  instead  of 
going  himself  to  Chicago,  he  sent  off 
the  following  despatch  : — 

"  Meet  me  to-morrow  morning,  with 
out  fail,  at  the  Gibson  House.  An 
swer." 

Before  midnight  he  had  his  answer, 
and  next  morning  he  met  a  man  in 
whom  he  had  the  most  implicit  confi 
dence,  and  who  had,  as  he  said,  the 
rare  and  valuable  gift  of  keeping  his 
mouth  shut. 

"You  see  this  portrait?"  Stratton 
said,  handing  to  the  other  a  photo 
graph  of  Stephen  Roland.  "  Now,  I 
do  not  know  how  many  hundred 
chemist  shops  there  are  in  Cincinnati, 
but  I  want  you  to  get  a  list  of  them, 
and  you  must  not  omit  the  most  ob 
scure  shop  in  town.  I  want  you  to 
visit  every  drug  store  there  is  in  the 
city,  show  this  photograph  to  the  pro- 


ffrom  Wbose  JSourne*  151 

prietor  and  the  clerks,  and  find  out  if 
that  man  bought  any  chemicals  during 
the  week  or  two  preceding  Christmas. 
Find  out  what  drugs  he  bought,  and 
where  he  bought  them,  then  bring  the 
information  to  me/' 

"  How  much  time  do  you  give  me  on 
this,  Mr.  Stratton?"  was  the  question. 

"  Whatever  time  you  want.  I  wish 
the  thing  done  thoroughly  and  com 
pletely,  and,  as  you  know,  silence  is 
golden  in  a  case  like  this." 

"  Enough  said,"  replied  the  other, 
and,  buttoning  the  photograph  in  his 
inside  pocket,  he  left  the  room. 


There  is  no  necessity  of  giving  an 
elaborate  report  of  the  trial.  Any 
one  who  has  curiosity  in  the  matter 
can  find  the  full  particulars  from  the 
files  of  any  paper  in  the  country. 
Mrs.  Brenton  was  very  pale  as  she  sat 
in  the  prisoner's  dock,  but  George 
Stratton  thought  he  never  saw  any  one 


152  from  rabose  JBourne. 

look  so  beautiful.  It  seemed  to  him 
that  any  man  in  that  crowded  court 
room  could  tell  in  a  moment  that  she 
was  not  guilty  of  the  crime  with  which 
she  was  charged,  and  he  looked  at  the 
jury  of  twelve  supposedly  good  men, 
and  wondered  what  they  thought  of  it. 
The  defence  claimed  that  it  was  not 
their  place  to  show  who  committed 
the  murder.  That  rested  with  the 
prosecution.  The  prosecution,  Mr. 
Benham  maintained,  had  signally 
failed  to  do  this.  However,  in  order 
to  aid  the  prosecution,  he  was  quite 
willing  to  show  how  Mr.  Brenton 
came  to  his  death.  Then  witnesses 
were  called,  who,  to  the  astonishment 
of  Mrs.  Brenton,  testified  that  her 
husband  had  all  along  had  a  tendency 
to  insanity.  It  was  proved  conclu 
sively  that  some  of  his  ancestors  had 
died  in  a  lunatic  asylum,  and  one  was 
stated  to  have  committed  suicide. 
The  defence  produced  certain  books 
from  Mr.  Brenton's  library,  among 


jprom  Tidbose  Bourne*  153 

them  Forbes  Winslow's  volume  on 
u  The  Mind  and  the  Brain/' to  show 
that  Brenton  had  studied  the  subject 
of  suicide. 

The  judge's  charge  was  very  color 
less.  It  amounted  simply  to  this:  If 
the  jury  thought  the  prosecution  had 
shown  Mrs.  Brenton  to  have  com 
mitted  the  crime,  they  were  to  bring 
in  a  verdict  of  guilty,  and  if  they 
thought  otherwise  they  were  to  acquit 
her;  and  so  the  jury  retired. 

As  they  left  the  court-room  a  cer 
tain  gloom  fell  upon  all  those  who 
were  friendly  to  the  fair  prisoner. 

Despite  the  great  reputation  of  Ben- 
ham  and  Brown,  it  was  the  thought  of 
every  one  present  that  they  had  made 
a  very  poor  defence.  The  prosecu 
tion,  on  the  other  hand,  had  been 
most  ably  conducted.  It  had  been 
shown  that  Mrs.  Brenton  was  chiefly 
to  profit  by  her  husband's  death. 
The  insurance  fund  alone  would  add 
seventy-five  thousand  dollars  to  the 


1 52  ffrom  TKHbose  JBourne, 

look  so  beautiful.  It  seemed  to  him 
that  any  man  in  that  crowded  court 
room  could  tell  in  a  moment  that  she 
was  not  guilty  of  the  crime  with  which 
she  was  charged,  and  he  looked  at  the 
jury  of  twelve  supposedly  good  men, 
and  wondered  what  they  thought  of  it. 
The  defence  claimed  that  it  was  not 
their  place  to  show  who  committed 
the  murder.  That  rested  with  the 
prosecution.  The  prosecution,  Mr. 
Benham  maintained,  had  signally 
failed  to  do  this.  However,  in  order 
to  aid  the  prosecution,  he  was  quite 
willing  to  show  how  Mr.  Brenton 
came  to  his  death.  Then  witnesses 
were  called,  who,  to  the  astonishment 
of  Mrs.  Brenton,  testified  that  her 
husband  had  all  along  had  a  tendency 
to  insanity.  It  was  proved  conclu 
sively  that  some  of  his  ancestors  had 
died  in  a  lunatic  asylum,  and  one  was 
stated  to  have  committed  suicide. 
The  defence  produced  certain  books 
from  Mr.  Brenton's  library,  among 


ffrom  Tldboee  Bourne*  153 

them  Forbes  Winslow's  volume  on 
"The  Mind  and  the  Brain/' to  show 
that  Brenton  had  studied  the  subject 
of  suicide. 

The  judge's  charge  was  very  color 
less.  It  amounted  simply  to  this  :  If 
the  jury  thought  the  prosecution  had 
shown  Mrs.  Brenton  to  have  com 
mitted  the  crime,  they  were  to  bring 
in  a  verdict  of  guilty,  and  if  they 
thought  otherwise  they  were  to  acquit 
her;  and  so  the  jury  retired. 

As  they  left  the  court-room  a  cer 
tain  gloom  fell  upon  all  those  who 
were  friendly  to  the  fair  prisoner. 

Despite  the  great  reputation  of  Ben- 
ham  and  Brown,  it  was  the  thought  of 
every  one  present  that  they  had  made 
a  very  poor  defence.  The  prosecu 
tion,  on  the  other  hand,  had  been 
most  ably  conducted.  It  had  been 
shown  that  Mrs.  Brenton  was  chiefly 
to  profit  by  her  husband's  death. 
The  insurance  fund  alone  would  add 
seventy-five  thousand  dollars  to  the 


i54  ffrom  TlXUbose  bourne* 

money  she  would  control.  A  number 
of  little  points  that  Stratton  had  given 
no  heed  to  had  been  magnified,  and 
appeared  then  to  have  a  great  bearing 
on  the  case.  For  the  first  time,  Strat 
ton  admitted  to  himself  that  the  pros 
ecution  had  made  out  a  very  strong 
case  of  circumstantial  evidence.  The 
defence,  too,  had  been  so  deplorably 
weak  that  it  added  really  to  the 
strength  of  the  prosecution.  A  great 
speech  had  been  expected  of  Benham, 
but  he  did  not  rise  to  the  occasion, 
and,  as  one  who  knew  him  said,  Ben- 
ham  evidently  believed  his  client 
guilty. 

As  the  jury  retired,  every  one  in 
the  court-room  felt  there  was  little 
hope  for  the  prisoner  ;  and  this  feeling 
was  intensified  when,  a  few  moments 
after,  the  announcement  was  made  in 
court,  just  as  the  judge  was  preparing 
to  leave  the  bench,  that  the  jury  had 
agreed  on  the  verdict. 

Stratton,    in    the    stillness      of    the 


ffrom  TiClbose  Bourne*          155 

court-room,  heard  one  lawyer  whisper 
to  another,  "  She's  doomed." 

There  was  intense  silence  as  the 
jury  slowly  filed  into  their  places,  and 
the  foreman  stood  up. 

"  Gentlemen  of  the  jury,"  was  the 
question,  "  have  you  agreed  upon  a 
verdict  ?" 

"  We  have,"  answered  the    foreman. 

"  Do  you  find  the  prisoner  guilty  or 
not  guilty  ?  " 

"  Not  guilty,"  was  the  clear  answer. 

At  this  there  was  first  a  moment  of 
silence,  and  then  a  ripple  of  applause, 
promptly  checked. 

Mrs.  Brenton  was  free. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

GEORGE  STRATTON  sat  in  the  court 
room  for  a  moment  dazed,  before  he 
thought  of  the  principal  figure  in  the 
trial ;  then  he  rose  to  go  to  her  side, 
but  he  found  that  Roland  was  there 
before  him.  He  heard  her  say,  "  Get 
me  a  carriage  quickly,  and  take  me 
away  from  here/' 

So  Stratton  went  back  to  his  hotel 
to  meet  his  Chicago  detective.  The 
latter  had  nothing  to  report.  He  told 
him  the  number  of  drug  stores  he  had 
visited,  but  all  without  avail.  No  one 
had  recognized  the  portrait. 

"All  right,"  said  Stratton;  "  then 
you  will  just  have  to  go  ahead  until 
you  find  somebody  who  does.  It  is,  I 


ffrom  Tieibose  JBourne*  157 

believe,  only    a  question    of  time  and 
perseverance/' 

"  Next  morning  he  arose  late.  He 
looked  over  the  report  of  the  trial  in 
the  morning  paper,  and  then,  turning 
to  the  leader  page,  read  with  rising 
indignation  the  following  editorial:  — 

"  THE  BRENTON  CASE. 

"The  decision  of  yesterday  shows 
the  glorious  uncertainty  that  attends 
the  finding  of  the  average  American 
jury.  If  such  verdicts  are  to  be  ren 
dered,  we  may  as  well  blot  out  from 
the  statute-book  all  punishment  for  all 
crimes  in  which  the  evidence  is  largely 
circumstantial.  If  ever  a  strong  case 
was  made  out  against  a  human  being 
it  was  the  case  of  the  prosecution  in 
the  recent  trial.  If  ever  there  was  a 
case  in  which  the  defence  was  deplor 
ably  weak,  although  ably  conducted, 
it  was  the  case  that  was  concluded 
yesterday.  Should  we,  then,  be  pre- 


is8  SFrom  Wbose  JSoutne* 

pared  to  say  that  circumstantial  evi 
dence  will  not  be  taken  by  an  Ameri 
can  jury  as  ground  for  the  conviction 
of  a  murderer  ?  The  chances  are  that, 
if  we  draw  this  conclusion,  we  shall  be 
entirely  wrong.  If  a  man  stood  in  the 
dock,  in  the  place  of  the  handsome 
young  woman  who  occupied  it  yester 
day,  he  would  to-day  have  been  un 
doubtedly  convicted  of  murder.  The 
conclusion,  then,  to  be  arrived  at 
seems  to  be  that,  unless  there  is  the 
direct  proof  of  murder  against  a  pretty 
woman,  it  is  absolutely  impossible  to 
get  the  average  jury  of  men  to  convict 
her.  It  would  seem  that  the  sooner 
we  get  women  on  juries,  especially 
where  a  woman  is  on  trial,  the  better 
it  will  be  for  the  cause  of  justice." 

Then  in  other  parts  of  the  paper 
there  were  little  items  similar  to  this — 

"  If  Mrs.  Brenton  did  not  poison 
her  husband  then  who  did?  " 

That  afternoon  George  Stratton 
paid  a  visit  to  Mrs.  Brenton.  He  had 


ffrom  TKftbose  bourne*  159 

hoped  she  had  not  seen  the  paper  in 
question,  but  he  hoped  in  vain.  He 
found  Mrs.  Brenton  far  from  elated 
with  her  acquittal. 

"  I  would  give  everything  I  possess/' 
she  said,  "  to  bring  the  culprit  to  jus 
tice." 

After  a  talk  on  that  momentous 
question,  and  when  George  Stratton 
held  her  hand  and  said  good-bye,  she 
asked  him — 

"  When  do  you  go  to  Chicago  ?  " 

"  Madam,"  he  said,  "  I  leave  for 
Chicago  the  moment  I  find  out  who 
poisoned  William  Brenton. " 

She  answered  sadly — 

"  You  may  remain  a  long  time  in 
Cincinnati." 

"  In  some  respects,"  said  Stratton, 
"  I  like  Cincinnati  better  than  Chi 
cago." 

"You  are  the  first  Chicago  man  I 
ever  heard  say  that,"  she  replied. 

"  Ah,  that  was  because  they  did 
not  know  Cincinnati  as  I  do." 


160  ffrom  TlGlbose  JSourne. 

"I  suppose  you  must  have  seen  a 
great  deal  of  the  town,  but  I  must  con 
fess  that  from  now  on  I  should  be 
very  glad  if  I  never  saw  Cincinnati 
again.  I  would  like  to  consult  with 
you/'  she  continued,  "  about  the  best 
way  of  solving  this  mystery.  I  have 
been  thinking  of  engaging  some  of  the 
best  detectives  I  can  get.  I  Suppose 
New  York  would  be  the  place." 

"  No ;  Chicago/'  answered  the 
young  man. 

"  Well,  then,  that  is  what  I  wanted 
to  see  you  about.  I  would  like  to 
get  the  very  best  detectives  that  can 
be  had.  Don't  you  think  that,  if  they 
were  promised  ample  reward,  and  paid 
well  during  the  time  they  were  work 
ing  on  the  case,  we  might  discover 
the  key  to  this  mystery  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  think  much  of  our  de 
tective  system,"  answered  Stratton, 
"although  I  suppose  there  is  some 
thing  in  it,  and  sometimes  they  man 
age  in  spite  of  themselves  to  stumble 


ffrom  Wbose  bourne*  161 

on  the  solution  of  a  crime.  Still,  I 
shall  be  very  glad  indeed  to  give  you 
what  advice  I  can  on  the  subject.  I 
may  say  I  have  constituted  myself  a 
special  detective  in  this  case,  and  that 
I  hope  to  have  the  honor  of  solving 
the  problem." 

"You  are  very  good,  indeed,"  she 
answered,  "  and  I  must  ask  you  to  let 
me  bear  the  expense." 

"Oh,  the  paper  will  do  that.  I 
won't  be  out  of  pocket  at  all,"  said 
Stratton. 

"Well,  I  hardly  know  how  to  put 
it ;  but,  whether  you  are  successful  or 
not,  I  feel  very  grateful  to  you,  and  I 
hope  you  will  not  be  offended  at  what  I 
am  going  to  say.  Now,  promise  me 
that  you  won't  ?  " 

"  I  shall  not  be  offended,"  he  an 
swered.  "  It  is  a  little  difficult  to  of 
fend  a  Chicago  newspaper  man,  you 
know." 

"  Now,  you  mustn't  say  anything 
against  the  newspaper  men,  for,  in 


162  fftom  TKHbose  JSourne* 

spite  of  the  hard  things  that  some  of 
them  have  said  about  me,  I  like 
them." 

"  Individually  or  collectively?  " 

"  I  am  afraid  I  must  say  individu 
ally.  You  said  you  wouldn't  be  of 
fended,  so  after  your  search  is  over 

you  must  let  me .  The  laboref  is 

worthy  of  his  hire,  or  I  should  say, 
his  reward — you  know  what  I  mean. 
I  presume  that  a  young  man  who 
earns  his  living  on  the  daily  press  is 
not  necessarily  wealthy/' 

"  Why,  Mrs.  Brenton,  what  strange 
ideas  you  have  of  the  world !  We 
newspaper  men  work  at  the  business 
merely  because  we  like  it.  It  isn't  at 
all  for  the  money  that's  in  it." 

"  Then  you  are  not  offended  at  what 
I  have  said  ?  " 

"  Oh,  not  in  the  least.  I  may  say, 
however,  that  I  look  for  a  higher  re 
ward  than  money  if  I  am  successful  in 
this  search." 

"Yes,  I  am  sure  you  do,"    answered 


'EXACTLY;   IT'S   FAME   I'M   AFTER,'    SAID    STRATTON,    SHAKING 
HER    HAND   ONCE    MORE."—  Page  l6j. 


ffrom  TlClbose  Bourne*  163 

the  lady,  innocently.  "  If  you  succeed 
in  this,  you  will  be  very  famous." 

"  Exactly  ;  it's  fame  I'm  after/'  said 
Stratton,  shaking  her  hand  once  more, 
and  taking  his  leave. 

When  he  reached  his  hotel,  he  found 
the  Chicago  detective  waiting  for 
him. 

"Well,  old  man,"  he  said,  "  anything 
new?  " 

"  Yes,  sir.     Something  very  new/* 

"  What  have  you  found  out  ?  " 

"  Everything." 

"  Very  well,  let  me  have  it." 

"  I  found  out  that  this  man  bought, 
on  December  loth,  thirty  grains  of 
morphia.  He  had  this  morphia  put 
up  in  five-grain  capsules.  He  bought 
this  at  the  drug  store  on  the  corner  of 
Blank  Street  and  Nemo  Avenue." 

"  Good  gracious  !  "  answered  Strat 
ton.  "Then  to  get  morphia  he  must 
have  had  a  physician's  certificate.  Did 
you  find  who  the  physician  was  that 
signed  the  certificate?" 


1 64  afrom  "Mbose  JSourne* 

"  My  dear  sir,"  said  the  Chicago 
man,  "  this  person  is  himself  a  physi 
cian,  unless  I  am  very  much  mistaken. 
I  was  told  that  this  was  the  portrait 
of  Stephen  Roland.  Am  I  right?  " 

"That  is  the  name." 

"  Well,  then,  he  is  a  doctor  himself. 
Not  doing  a  very  large  practice,  it  is 
true,  but  he  is  a  physician.  Did  you 
not  know  that  ?  " 

"No/'  said  Stratton ;  "how  stupid 
I  am  !  I  never  thought  of  asking  the 
man's  occupation." 

"Very  well,  if  that  is  what  you 
wanted  to  know,  here's  the  detailed 
report  of  my  investigation." 

When  the  man  left,  Stratton  fubbed 
his  hands. 

"  Now,  Mr.  Stephen  Roland,  I  have 
you,"  he  said. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

AFTER  receiving  this  information, 
Stratton  sat  alone  in  his  room  and 
thought  deeply  over  his  plans.  He 
did  not  wish  to  make  a  false  step,  yet 
there  was  hardly  enough  in  the  evi 
dence  he  had  secured  to  warrant  his 
giving  Stephen  Roland  up  to  the 
police.  Besides  this,  it  would  put  the 
suspected  man  at  once  on  his  guard, 
and  there  was  no  question  but  that 
gentleman  had  taken  every  precaution 
to  prevent  discovery.  After  deliberat 
ing  for  a  long  while,  he  thought  that 
perhaps  the  best  thing  he  could  do 
was  to  endeavor  to  take  Roland  by 
surprise.  Meanwhile,  before  the  medi 
tating  man  stood  Brenton  and  Speed, 


i66  afrom  Tieibose  bourne. 

and  between  them  there  was  a  serious 
disagreement  of  opinion. 


"  I  tell  you  what  it  is,"  said  Speed, 
<l  there  is  no  use  in  our  interfering 
with  Stratton.  He  is  on  the  wrong 
track,  but,  nevertheless,  all  the  influence 
we  can  use  on  him  in  his  present 
frame  of  mind  will  merely  do  what  it 
did  before — it  will  muddle  the  man 
up.  Now,  I  propose  that  we  leave 
him  severely  alone.  Let  him  find  out 
his  mistake.  He  will  find  it  out  in 
some  way  or  other,  and  then  he  will 
be  in  a  condition  of  mind  to  turn  to 
the  case  of  Jane  Morton/' 

"  But  don't  you  see,"  argued  Bren- 
ton,  "that  all  the  time  spent  on  his 
present  investigation  is  so  much  time 
lost?  I  will  agree  to  leave  him  alone, 
as  you  say,  but  let  us  get  somebody 
else  on  the  Morton  case." 

"  I  don't  want  to  do  that,"  said 
Speed  ;  "  because  George  Stratton  has 


ffrom  Wbose  bourne*  167 

taken  a  great  deal  of  interest  in  this 
search.  He  has  done  a  great  deal 
now,  and  I  think  we  should  be  grate 
ful  to  him  for  it." 

"  Grateful !  "  growled  Brenton  ;  "  he 
has  done  it  from  the  most  purely 
selfish  motives  that  a  man  can  act 
upon.  He  has  done  it  entirely  for  his 
paper — for  newspaper  fame.  He  has 
done  it  for  money." 

"Now,"  said  Speed,  hotly,  "you 
must  not  talk  like  that  of  Stratton  to 
me.  I  won't  say  what  I  think  of  that 
kind  of  language  coming  from  you, 
but  you  can  see  how  seriously  we 
interfered  with  his  work  before,  and 
how  it  nearly  resulted  in  his  departure 
for  Chicago.  I  propose  now  that  we 
leave  him  alone." 

"  Leave  him  alone,  then,  for  any 
sake,"  replied  Brenton ;  "  I  am  sure  I 
build  nothing  on  what  he  can  do  any 
way." 

"All  right,  then,"  returned  Speed, 
recovering  his  good  nature.  "  Now, 


i68  ffrom  Wbose  Bourne* 

although  I  am  not  willing  to  put  any 
one  else  on  the  track  of  Miss  Jane 
Morton,  yet  I  will  tell  you  what  I  am 
willing  to  do.  If  you  like,  we  will  go 
to  her  residence,  and  influence  her  to 
confess  her  crime.  I  believe  that  can 
be  done." 

"  Very  well ;  I  want  you  to  under 
stand  that  I  am  perfectly  reasonable 
about  the  matter.  All  I  want  is  not 
to  lose  any  more  time." 

"  Time  ?  "  cried  Speed  ;  "  why,  we 
have  got  all  the  time  there  is.  Mrs. 
Brenton  is  acquitted.  There  is  no 
more  danger." 

"That  is  perfectly  true,  I  admit; 
but  still  you  can  see  the  grief  under 
which  she  labors,  because  her  name 
is  not  yet  cleared  from  the  odium  of 
the  crime.  You  will  excuse  me, 
Speed,  if  I  say  that  you  seem  to  be 
working  more  in  the  interests  of 
Stratton's  journalistic  success  than  in 
the  interests  of  Mrs.  Brenton's  good 
name." 


Jrom  TWbOBe  Bourne*  169 

"Well,  we  won't  talk  about  that/' 
said  Speed;  "  Stratton  is  amply  able 
to  take  care  of  himself,  as  you  will 
doubtless  see.  Now,  what  do  you 
say  to  our  trying  whether  or  not  we 
can  influence  Jane  Morton  to  do  what 
she  ought  to  do,  and  confess  her 
crime?  " 

"  It  is  not  a  very  promising  task," 
replied  Brenton ;  "  it  is  hard  to  get  a 
person  to  say  words  that  may  lead  to 
the  gallows/' 

"  I'm  not  so  sure  about  that,"  said 
Speed;  "you  know  the  trouble  of 
mind  she  is  in.  I  think  it  more  than 
probable  that,  after  the  terror  of  the 
last  few  weeks,  it  will  be  a  relief  for 
her  to  give  herself  up." 

"Very  well ;  let  us  go." 

The  two  men  shortly  afterwards 
found  themselves  in  the  scantily  fur 
nished  room  occupied  by  Jane  Mor 
ton.  That  poor  woman  was  rocking 
herself  to  and  fro  and  moaning  over  her 
trouble.  Then  she  suddenly  stopped 


i?o  ffrom  lldbose  Bourne, 

rocking,  and  looked  around  the  room 
with  vague  apprehension  in  her  eyes. 
She  rose  and  examined  the  bolts  of 
the  door,  and,  seeing  everything  was 
secure,  sat  down  again. 

"  I  shall  never  have  any  peace  in 
this  world  again,"  she  cried  to  herself. 

She  rocked  back  and  forth  silently 
for  a  few  moments. 

"  I  wish,"  she  said,  "  the  police 
would  find  out  all  about  it,  and  then 
this  agony  of  mind  would  end." 

Again  she  rocked  back  and  forth, 
with  her  hands  helplessly  in  her  lap. 

"  Oh,  I  cannot  do  it,  /  cannot  do 
it  !  "  she  sobbed,  still  rocking  to  and 
fro.  Finally  she  started  to  her  feet. 

"I  will  do  it,"  she  cried;  "I  will 
confess  to  Mrs.  Brenton  herself.  I 
will  tell  her  everything.  She  has 
gone  through  trouble  herself,  and  may 
have  mercy  on  me." 

"  There,  you  see,"  said  Speed  to 
Brenton,  "  we  have  overcome  the  diffi 
culty,  after  all." 


ffrom  1idbo6e  Bourne*          171 

"  It  certainly  looks  like  it,"  replied 
Brenton.  "  Don't  you  think,  however, 
that  we  had  better  stay  with  her  until 
she  does  confess?  May  she  not  change 
her  mind  ?  " 

"  Don't  let  us  overdo  the  thing,'* 
suggested  Speed;  "if  she  doesn't 
come  to  time,  we  can  easily  have  an 
other  interview  with  her.  The  wom 
an's  mind  is  made  up.  She  is  in 
torment,  and  will  be  until  she  con 
fesses  her  crime.  Let  us  go  and  leave 
her  alone." 


George  Stratton  was  not  slow  to 
act  when  he  had  once  made  up  his 
mind.  He  pinned  to  the  breast  of  his 
vest  a  little  shield,  on  which  was  the 
word  "  detective."  This  he  had  often 
found  useful,  in  a  way  that  is  not  at 
all  sanctioned  by  the  law,  in  ferreting 
out  crime  in  Chicago.  As  soon  as  it 
was  evening  he  paced  up  and  down  in 
front  of  Roland's  house,  and  on  the 


i?2  ffcom  IQbose  JBourne* 

opposite  side  of  the  road.  There  was 
a  light  in  the  doctor's  study,  and  he 
thought  that  perhaps  the  best  way  to 
proceed  was  to  go  boldly  into  the 
house  and  put  his  scheme  into  opera 
tion.  However,  as  he  meditated  on 
this,  the  light  was  turned  low,  and  in 
a  few  moments  the  door  opened.  The 
doctor  came  down  the  steps,  and  out 
on  the  pavement,  walking  briskly 
along  the  street.  The  reporter  fol 
lowed  him  on  the  other  side  of  the 
thoroughfare.  Whether  to  do  it  in 
the  dark  or  in  the  light,  was  the  ques 
tion  that  troubled  Stratton.  If  he 
did  it  in  the  dark,  he  would  miss  the 
expression  on  the  face  of  the  surprised 
man.  If  he  did  it  in  the  light,  the 
doctor  might  recognize  him  as  the 
Chicago  reporter,  and  would  know  at 
once  that  he  was  no  detective.  Still, 
he  felt  that  if  there  was  anything  in 
his  scheme  at  all,  it  was  surprise  ;  and 
he  remembered  the  quick  gasp  of  the 
lawyer  Brown  when  he  told  him  he 


Tldbose  bourne.  173 

knew  what  his  defence  was.  He  must 
be  able  to  note  the  expression  of  the 
man  who  was  guilty  of  the  terrible 
crime. 

Having  made  up  his  mind  to  this,  he 
stepped  smartly  after  the  doctor,  and, 
when  the  latter  came  under  a  lamp 
post,  placed  his  hand  suddenly  on  his 
shoulder,  and  exclaimed — 

"  Doctor  Stephen  Roland,  I  arrest 
you  for  the  murder  of  William  Bren- 
ton!" 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

STEPHEN  ROLAND  turned  quickly 
around  and  shook  the  hand  from  his 
shoulder.  It  was  evident  that  he  rec 
ognized  Stratton  instantly. 

"  Is  this  a  Chicago  joke  ?  "  asked  the 
doctor. 

"  If  it  is,  Mr.  Roland,  I  think  you 
will  find  it  a  very  serious  one." 

"  Aren't  you  afraid  that  you  may 
find  it  a  serious  one  ?  " 

"  I  don't  see  why  I  should  have  any 
fears  in  the  premises,"  answered  the 
newspaper  man. 

"  My  dear  sir,  do  you  not  realize 
that  I  could  knock  you  down  or  shoot 
you  dead  for  what  you  have  done, 
and  be  perfectly  justified  in  doing 
so?" 


ffrom  Wbose  Bourne*  175 

"  If  you  either  knock  or  shoot/'  re 
plied  the  other,  "  you  will  have  to  do 
it  very  quickly,  for,  in  the  language  of 
the  wild  and  woolly  West,  I've  got  the 
drop  on  you.  In  my  coat  pocket  is  a 
cocked  revolver  with  my  forefinger  on 
the  trigger.  If  you  make  a  hostile 
move  I  can  let  daylight  through  you 
so  quickly  that  you  won't  know  what 
has  struck  you." 

"  Electric  light,  I  think  you  mean," 
answered  the  doctor,  quietly.  "  Even 
a  Chicago  man  might  find  it  difficult 
to  let  daylight  through  a  person  at 
this  time  in  the  evening.  Now,  this 
sort  of  thing  may  be  Chicago  manners, 
but  I  assure  you  it  will  not  go  down 
here  in  Cincinnati.  You  have  ren 
dered  yourself  liable  to  the  law  if  I 
cared  to  make  a  point  of  it,  but  I  do 
not.  Come  back  with  me  to  my  study. 
I  would  like  to  talk  with  you." 

Stratton  began  to  feel  vaguely  that 
he  had  made  a  fool  of  himself.  His 
scheme  had  utterly  failed.  The  doc- 


176  afrom  Ixllboee  bourne. 

tor  was  a  great  deal  cooler  and  more 
collected  than  he  was.  Nevertheless, 
he  had  a  deep  distrust  of  the  gentle 
man,  and  he  kept  his  revolver  handy 
for  fear  the  other  would  make  a  dash 
to  escape  him.  They  walked  back 
without  saying  a  word  to  each  other 
until  they  came  to  the  doctor's  office. 
Into  the  house  they  entered,  and  the 
doctor  bolted  the  door  behind  them. 
Stratton  suspected  that  very  likely  he 
was  walking  into  a  trap,  but  he  thought 
he  would  be  equal  to  any  emergency 
that  might  arise.  The  doctor  walked 
into  the  study,  and  again  locked  the 
,  door  of  that.  Pulling  down  the  blinds, 
he  turned  up  the  gas  to  its  full  force 
and  sat  down  by  a  table,  motioning 
the  newspaper  man  to  a  seat  on  the 
other  side. 

"  Now/'  he  said  calmly  to  Stratton, 
"  the  reason  I  did  not  resent  your  un 
warrantable  insult  is  this :  You  are 
conscientiously  trying  to  get  at  the 
root  of  this  mystery.  So  am  I.  Your 


ffrom  Wbose  JSournc*  177 

reason  is  that  you  wish  to  score  a  vic 
tory  for  your  paper.  My  motive  is 
entirely  different,  but  our  object  is  ex 
actly  the  same.  Now,  by  some  strange 
combination  of  circumstances  you 
have  come  to  ^the  conclusion  that  I 
committed  the  crime.  Am  I  right?" 

"You  are  perfectly  correct,  doctor," 
replied  Stratton. 

"  Very  well,  then.  Now,  I  assure 
you  that  I  am  entirely  innocent.  Of 
course,  I  appreciate  the  fact  that  this 
assurance  will  not  in  the  slightest  de 
gree  affect  your  opinion,  but  I  am  in 
terested  in  knowing  why  you  came  to 
your  conclusion,  and  perhaps  by  put 
ting  our  heads  together,  even  if  I  dis 
like  you  and  you  hate  me,  we  may  see 
some  light  on  this  matter  that  has  hith 
erto  been  hidden.  I  presume  you 
have  no  objection  at  all  to  co-operate 
with  me  ?  " 

"  None  in  the  least,'*  was  the  reply. 

"  Very  well,  then.  Now,  don't  mind 
my  feelings  at  all,  but  tell  me  exactly 


178  ffrom  TKIlbose  Bourne* 

why  you  have  suspected  me  of  being  a 
murderer." 

"Well,"  answered  Stratton,  "in  the 
first  place  we  must  look  for  a  motive. 
It  seems  to  me  that  you  have  a  motive 
for  the  crime." 

"  And  might  I  ask  what  that  motive 
is,  or  was  ?  " 

"  You  will  admit  that  you  disliked 
Brenton  ?  " 

"  I  will  admit  that,  yes." 

"  Very  well.  You  will  admit  also 
that  you  were — well,  how  shall  I  put 
it  ? — let  us  say,  interested  in  his  wife 
before  her  marriage  ?  " 

"  I  will  admit  that ;  yes." 

"  You,  perhaps,  will  admit  that  you 
are  interested  in  her  now  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  see  any  necessity  for  ad 
mitting  that ;  but  still,  for  the  purpose 
of  getting  along  with  the  case,  I  will 
admit  it.  Go  on." 

"  Very  good.  Here  is  a  motive  for 
the  crime,  and  a  very  strong  one. 
First,  we  will  presume  that  you  are  in 


3from  T&lbose  JBourne.  179 

love  with  the  wife  of  the  man  who  is 
murdered.  Secondly,  supposing  that 
you  are  mercenary,  quite  a  considera 
ble  amount  of  money  will  come  to  you 
in  case  you  marry  Brenton's  widow. 
Next,  some  one  at  that  table  poisoned 
him.  It  was  not  Mrs.  Brenton,  who 
poured  out  the  cup  of  coffee.  The 
cup  of  coffee  was  placed  before  Bren 
ton,  and  my  opinion  is  that,  until  it 
was  placed  there,  there  was  no  poison 
in  that  cup.  The  doomed  man  was 
entirely  unsuspicious,  and  therefore  it 
was  very  easy  for  a  person  to  slip 
enough  poison  in  that  cup  unseen  by 
anybody  at  that  table,  so  that  when  he 
drank  his  coffee  nothing  could  have 
saved  him.  He  rose  from  the  table 
feeling  badly,  and  he  went  to  his  room 
and  died.  Now,  who  could  have  placed 
that  poison  in  his  cup  of  coffee?  It 
must  have  been  one  of  the  two  that  sat  at 
his  right  and  left  hand.  A  young  lady 
sat  at  his  right  hand.  She  certainly 
did  not  commit  the  crime.  You, 


iSo  ffrom  Wbose  bourne*    . 

Stephen  Roland,  sat  at  his  left  hand. 
Do  you  deny  any  of  the  facts  I  have 
recited  ?  " 

"  That  is  a  very  ingenious  chain  of 
circumstantial  evidence.  Of  course, 
you  do  not  think  it  strong  enough  to 
convict  a  man  of  such  a  serious  crime 
as  murder?" 

"  No ;  I  quite  realize  the  weakness 
of  the  case  up  to  this  point.  But 
there  is  more  to  follow.  Fourteen 
days  before  that  dinner  you  purchased 
at  the  drug  store  on  the  corner  of 
Blank  Street  and  Nemo  Avenue 
thirty  grains  of  morphia.  You  had 
the  poison  put  up  in  capsules  of  five 
grains  each.  What  do  you  say  to  that 
bit  of  evidence  added  to  the  circum 
stantial  chain  which  you  say  is  ingen 
ious  ?" 

The  doctor  knit  his  brows  and 
leaned  back  in  his  chair. 

"  By  the  gods !  "  he  said,  "  you  are 
right.  I  did  buy  that  morphia.  I 
remember  it  now.  I  don't  mind  tel- 


fftom  Wbose  bourne,  181 

ling  you  that  I  had  a  number  of  ex 
periments  on  hand,  as  every  doctor 
has,  and  I  had  those  capsules  put  up 
at  the  drug  store,  but  this  tragedy 
coming  on  made  me  forget  all  about 
the  matter." 

"  Did  you  take  the  morphia  with 
you,  doctor?  " 

"No,  I  did  not.  And  the  box  of 
capsules,  I  do  not  think,  has  been 
opened.  But  that  is  easily  ascer 
tained." 

The  doctor  rose,  went  to  his  cabinet, 
and  unlocked  it.  From  a  number  of 
packages  he  selected  a  small  one,  and 
brought  it  to  the  desk,  placing  it  be 
fore  the  reporter. 

"  There  is  the  package.  That  con- 
tains,  as  you  say,  thirty  grains  of  mor 
phia  in  half  a  dozen  five-grain  cap 
sules.  You  see  that  it  is  sealed 'just 
as  it  left  the  drug  store.  Now,  open 
it  and  look  for  yourself.  Here  are 
scales ;  if  you  want  to  see  whether 


182  ffrom  TKabose  bourne* 

•a  single  grain  is  missing  or  not,  find 
'Out  for  yourself." 

"  Perhaps,"  said  the  newspaper  man, 
*'  we  had  better  leave  this  investiga 
tion  for  the  proper  authorities." 

"  Then  you  still  believe  that  I  am 
the  murderer  of  William  Brenton  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  still  believe  that." 

"  Very  well ;  you  may  do  as  you 
please.  I  think,  however,  in  justice  to 
myself,  you  should  stay  right  here, 
and  see  that  this  box  is  not  tampered 
with  until  the  proper  authorities,  as 
you  say,  come." 

Then,  placing  his  hand  on  the  bell, 
he  continued — 

"  Whom  shall  I  send  for  ?  An  ordi 
nary  policeman,  or  some  one  from  the 
central  office  ?  But,  now  that  I  think  of 
it,  here  is  a  telephone.  We  can  have 
any  one  brought  here  that  you  wish. 
I  prefer  that  neither  you  nor  I  leave 
this  room  until  that  functionary  has 
appeared.  Name  the  authority  you 
want  brought  here,"  said  the  doctor, 


ffrom  TlClbose  Bourne.  183 

going  to  the  telephone,  "  and  I  will 
have  him  here  if  he  is  in  town." 

The  newspaper  man  was  nonplussed. 
The  doctor's  actions  did  not  seem 
like  those  of  a  guilty  man.  If  he 
were  guilty  he  certainly  had  more 
nerve  than  any  person  Stratton  had 
ever  met.  So  he  hesitated.  Then  he 
said — 

"  Sit  down  a  moment,  doctor,  and 
let  us  talk  this  thing  over." 

"Just  as  you  say,"  remarked  Ro 
land,  drawing  up  his  chair  again. 

Stratton  took  the  package,  and 
looked  it  over  carefully.  It  was  cer 
tainly  just  in  the  condition  in  which 
it  had  left  the  drug  store ;  but  still, 
that  could  have  been  easily  done  by 
the  doctor  himself. 

"Suppose  we  open  this  package?" 
he  said  to  Roland. 

"  With  all  my  heart,"  said  the  doc 
tor,  "  go  ahead  ;  "  and  he  shoved  over 
to  him  a  little  penknife  that  was  on 
the  table. 


284  ffrom  Wbose  bourne. 

The  reporter  took  the  package,  ran 
the  knife  around  the  edge,  and  opened 
it.  There  lay  six  capsules,  filled,  as 
the  doctor  had  said.  Roland  picked 
up  one  of  them,  and  looked  at  it  criti 
cally. 

"  I  assure  you,"  he  said,  "although  I 
am  quite  aware  you  do  not  believe  a 
word  I  say,  that  I  have  not  seen  those 
capsules  before." 

He  drew  towards  him  a  piece  of 
paper,  opened  the  capsule,  and  let  the 
white  powder  fall  on  the  paper.  He 
looked  critically  at  the  powder,  and  a 
shade  of  astonishment  came  over  his 
face.  He  picked  up  the  penknife, 
took  a  particle  on  the  tip  of  it,  and 
touched  it  with  his  tongue. 

"Don't  fool  with  that  thing!"  said 
Stratton. 

"  Oh,  my  dear  fellow,"  he  said, 
"  morphia  is  not  a  poison  in  small 
quantities." 

The  moment  he  had  tasted  it,  how 
ever,  he  suddenly  picked  up  the  paper, 


ffrom  IHflbose  bourne*  185 

put  the  five  grains  on  his  tongue,  and 
swallowed  them. 

Instantly  the  reporter  sprang  to  his 
feet.  He  saw  at  once  the  reason  for 
all  the  assumed  coolness.  The  doctor 
was  merely  gaining  time  in  order  to 
commit  suicide. 

"  What  have  you  done  ?  "  cried  the 
reporter. 

"Done,  my  dear  fellow?  nothing 
very  much.  This  is  not  morphia;  it 
is  sulphate  of  quinine/' 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

IN  the  morning  Jane  Morton  pre 
pared  to  meet  Mrs.  Brenton,,  and  make 
her  confession.  She  called  at  the 
Brenton  residence,  but  found  it  closed, 
as  it  had  been  ever  since  the  tragedy 
of  Christmas  morning.  It  took  her 
some  time  to  discover  the  whereabouts 
of  Mrs.  Brenton,  who,  since  the  mur 
der,  had  resided  with  a  friend  except 
while  under  arrest. 

For  a  moment  Mrs.  Brenton  did  not 
recognize  the  thin  and  pale  woman 
who  stood  before  her  in  a  state  of  such 
extreme  nervous  agitation,  that  it 
seemed  as  if  at  any  moment  she  might 
break  down  and  cry. 

"I  don't  suppose  you'll  remember 
me,  ma'am,"  began  the  girl,  "  but  I 


ffrom  TIClbose  Bourne.  187 

worked  for  you  two  weeks  before — be 
fore " 

"  Oh  yes,'*  said  Mrs.  Brenton,  "  I 
remember  you  now.  Have  you  been 
ill  ?  You  look  quite  worn  and  pale, 
and  very  different  from  what  you  did 
the  last  time  I  saw  you." 

"Yes,"  said  the  girl,  "  I  believe  I 
have  been  ill." 

"You  believe ;  aren't  you  sure?" 

"  I  have  been  very  ill  in  mind,  and 
troubled,  and  that  is  the  reason  I  look 
so  badly.  Oh,  Mrs.  Brenton,  I  wanted 
to  tell  you  of  something  that  has  been 
weighing  on  my  mind  ever  since  that 
awful  day !  I  know  you  can  never 
forgive  me,  but  I  must  tell  it  to  you, 
or  I  shall  go  crazy." 

"  Sit  down,  sit  down,"  said  the  lady, 
kindly ;  "  you  know  what  trouble  I 
have  been  in  myself.  I  am  sure  that 
I  am  more  able  to  sympathize  now 
with  one  who  is  in  trouble  than  ever  I 
was  before." 

"  Yes,  ma'am ;  but    you   were    inno- 


iss  ffrom  Wbose  rJBoutne* 

cent,  and  I  am  guilty.  That  makes 
all  the  difference  in  the  world." 

"  Guilty!"  cried  Mrs.  Brenton,  a 
strange  fear  coming  over  her  as  she 
stared  at  the  girl ;  "  guilty  of  what  ?" 

"  Oh,  madam,  let  me  tell  you  all 
about  it.  There  is,  of  course,  no  ex 
cuse  ;  but  I'll  begin  at  the  beginning. 
You  remember  a  while  before  Christ 
mas  that  John  came  to  see  me  one 
night,  and  we  sat  up  very  late  in  the 
kitchen,  and  your  husband  came  down 
quietly,  and  when  we  heard  him  com 
ing  we  put  out  the  light,  and  just  as 
John  was  trying  to  get  away,  your 
husband  shot  twice  at  him,  and  hit  him 
the  second  time?  " 

"  Oh  yes,"  said  Mrs.  Brenton,  "  I  re 
member  that  very  well.  I  had  for 
gotten  about  it  in  my  own  trouble ; 
but  I  know  that  my  husband  in 
tended  to  do  something  for  the 
young  man.  I  hope  he  was  not 
seriously  hurt  ?  " 

"  No,  ma'am  ;  he  is  able  to  be  about 


ffrom  Tldbose  JBourne.  189 

again  now  as  well  as  ever,  and  is  not 
even  lame,  which  we  expected  he 
would  be.  But  at  the  time  I  thought 
he  was  going  to  be  lame  all  the  rest  of 
his  life,  and  perhaps  that  is  the  reason 
I  did  what  I  did.  When  everything 
was  in  confusion  in  the  house,  and  it 
was  certain  that  we  would  all  have  to 
leave,  I  did  a  very  wicked  thing.  I 
went  to  your  room,  and  I  stole  some  of 
your  rings,  and  some  money  that  was 
there,  as  well  as  a  lot  of  other  things 
that  were  in  the  room.  It  seemed  to 
me  then,  although,  of  course,  I  know 
no\v  how  wicked  it  was,  that  you  owed 
John  something  for  what  he  had  gone 
through,  and  I  thought  that  he  was  to 
be  lame,  and  that  you  would  never 
miss  the  things ;  but,  oh  !  madam,  I 
have  not  slept  a  night  since  I  took 
them.  I  have  been  afraid  of  the  police 
and  afraid  of  being  found  out.  I  have 
pawned  nothing,  and  they  are  all  just 
as  I  took  them,  and  I  have  brought 
them  back  here  to  you,  with  every 


190  ffrom  TlGlbose  JBoutne* 

penny  of  the  money.  I  know  you 
can  never  forgive  me,  but  I  am  will 
ing  now  to  be  given  up  to  the  police, 
and  I  feel  better  in  my  mind  than  I 
have  done  ever  since  I  took  the 
things.'* 

"  My  poor  child!  "said  Mrs.  Bren- 
ton,  sympathetically,  "was  that  all?" 

"All  ?  "  cried  the  girl.  "Yes,  I  have 
brought  everything  back." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  mean  that,  but  I  am 
sorry  you  have  been  worried  over  any 
thing  so  trivial.  I  can  see  how  at  such 
a  time,  and  feeling  that  you  had  been 
wronged,  a  temptation  to  take  the 
things  came  to  you.  But  I  hope  you 
will  not  trouble  any  more  about  the 
matter.  I  will  see  that  John  is  com 
pensated  for  all  the  injury  he  received, 
as  far  as  it  is  possible  for  money  to 
compensate  him.  I  hope  you  will  keep 
the  money.  The  other  things,  of  course, 
I  shall  take  back,  and  I  am  glad  you 
came  to  tell  me  of  it  before  telling  any 
one  else.  I  think,  perhaps,  it  is  better 


afrom  TUflbose  JSourne.  191 

never  to  say  anything  to  anybody 
about  this.  People  might  not  under 
stand  just  what  temptation  you  were 
put  to,  and  they  would  not  know  the  cir 
cumstances  of  the  case,  because  nobody 
knows,  I  think,  that  John  was  hurt. 
Now,  my  dear  girl,  do  not  cry.  It  is 
all  right.  Of  course  you  never  will 
touch  anything  again  that  does  not 
belong  to  you,  and  the  suffering  you 
have  gone  through  has  more  than  made 
up  for  all  the  wrong  you  have  done. 
I  am  sure  that  I  forgive  you  quite 
freely  for  it,  and  I  think  it  was  very 
noble  of  you  to  come  and  tell  me 
about  it." 

Mrs.  Brenton  took  the  package  from 
the  hands  of  the  weeping  girl,  and 
opened  it.  She  found  everything 
there,  as  the  girl  had  said.  She  took 
the  money  and  offered  it  to  Jane  Mor 
ton.  The  girl  shook  her  head. 

"  No,"  she  cried,  "  I  cannot  touch  it. 
I  cannot,  indeed.  It  has  been  enough 
misery  to  me  already." 


iQ2  fftom  IDQboee  JBourne, 

"  Very  well,"  said  Mrs.  Brenton.  "  I 
would  like  very  much  to  see  John* 
Will  you  bring  him  to  me  ?  " 

The  girl  looked  at  her  with  startled 
eyes. 

"You  will  not  tell  him?"  she  said. 

"No  indeed,  I  shall  tell  him  noth 
ing.  But  I  want  to  do  what  I  can  for 
him,  as  I  said.  I  suppose  you  are  en 
gaged  to  be  married  ?  " 

"Yes,"  answered  the  girl;  "but  if 
he  knew  of  this  he  never,  never  would 
marry  me." 

"If  he  did  not,"  said  Mrs.  Brenton, 
"  he  would  not  be  worthy  of  you. 
But  he  shall  know  nothing  about  it. 
You  will  promise  to  come  here  and  see 
me  with  him,  will  you  not  ?  " 

"Yes,  madam,"  said  the  girl. 

"Then  good-bye,  until  I  see  you 
again." 

Mrs.  Brenton  sat  for  a  long  time 
thinking  over  this  confession.  It  took 
her  some  time  to  recover  her  usual 
self-possession,  because  for  a  moment 


ffrom  Tidbose  JSournc.  193 

she  had  thought  the  girl  was  going  to 
confess  that  she  committed  murder. 
In  comparison  with  that  awful  crime, 
the  theft  seemed  so  trivial  that  Mrs. 
Brenton  almost  smiled  when  she 
thought  of  the  girl's  distress. 


"Well,"  said  John  Speed  to  Mr. 
Brenton,  "  if  that  doesn't  beat  the 
Old  Harry.  Now  I,  for  one,  am  very 
glad  of  it,  if  we  come  to  the  real  truth 
of  the  matter." 

"  I  am  glad  also,"  said  Brenton, 
"  that  the  girl  is  not  guilty,  although  I 
must  say  things  looked  decidedly 
against  her." 

"  I  will  tell  you  why  I  am  glad,"  said 
Speed.  "I  am  glad  because  it  will 
take  some  of  the  superfluous  conceit 
out  of  that  French  detective  Lecocq. 
He  was  so  awfully  sure  of  himself. 
He  couldn't  possibly  be  mistaken. 
Now,  think  of  the  mistakes  that  man 
must  have  made  while  he  was  on 


194  ffvom  THHbose  bourne* 

earth,  and  had  the  power  which  was 
given  into  his  hands  in  Paris.  After 
all,  Stratton  is  on  the  right  track,  and 
he  will  yet  land  your  friend  Roland  in 
prison.  Let  us  go  and  find  Lecocq. 
This  is  too  good  to  keep." 

"  My  dear  sir,"  said  Brenton,  "  you 
seem  to  be  more  elated  because  of  your 
friend  Stratton  than  for  any  other 
reason.  Don't  you  want  the  matter 
ferreted  out  at  all  ?  " 

"  Why,  certainly  I  do ;  but  I  don't 
want  it  ferreted  out  by  bringing  an  in 
nocent  person  into  trouble." 

"And  may  not  Stephen  Roland  be 
an  innocent  person?" 

"Oh,  I  suppose  so;  but  I  do  not 
think  he  is." 

"  Why  do  you  not  think  so  ?  " 

"  Well,  if  you  want  the  real  reason, 
simply  because  George  Stratton  thinks 
he  isn't.  I  pin  my  faith  to  Stratton." 

"  I  think  you  overrate  your  friend 
Stratton." 

"  Overrate   him,    sir  ?     That    is    im- 


ffrom  Mbose  bourne.  195 

possible.  I  love  him  so  well  that  I 
hope  he  will  solve  this  mystery  him 
self,  unaided  and  alone,  and  that  in 
going  back  to  Chicago  he  will  be 
smashed  to  pieces  in  a  railway  acci 
dent,  so  that  we  can  have  him  here  to 
congratulate  him." 


CHAPTER  XV. 

"  I  SUPPOSE,"  said  Roland,  "  you 
thought  for  a  moment  I  was  trying  to 
commit  suicide.  I  think,  Mr.  Strat- 
ton,  you  will  have  a  better  opinion  of 
me  by-and-by.  I  shouldn't  be  at  all 
surprised  if  you  imagined  I  induced 
you  to  come  in  here  to  get  you  into  a 
trap." 

"  You  are  perfectly  correct,"  said 
Stratton  ;  "  and  I  may  say,  although 
that  was  my  belief,  I  was  not  in  the 
least  afraid  of  you,  for  I  had  you 
covered  all  the  time." 

"  Well,"  remarked  Roland,  care 
lessly,  "  I  don't  want  to  interfere  with 
your  business  at  all,  but  I  wish  you 


ffrom  Tittlboae  Bourne*  197 

wouldn't  cover  me  quite  so  much ; 
that  revolver  of  yours  might  go  off.'' 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say,"  said  Strat- 
ton,  "  that  there  is  nothing  but  quinine 
in  those  capsules  ?  " 

"  I'll  tell  you  in  a  moment,"  as 
he  opened  them  one  by  one.  "  No, 
there  is  nothing  but  quinine  here. 
Thirty  grains  put  up  in  five-grain 
capsules." 

George  Stratton's  eyes  began  to 
open.  Then  he  slowly  rose,  and 
looked  with  horrified  face  at  the 
doctor. 

"  My  God  !  "  he  cried  ;  "  who  got 
the  thirty  grains  of  morphia  ?  " 

"What  do  you  mean?"  asked  the 
doctor. 

"  Mean  ?  Why,  don't  you  see  it  ? 
It  is  a  chemist's  mistake.  Thirty 
grains  of  quinine  have  been  sent  you. 
Thirty  grains  of  morphia  have  been 
sent  to  somebody  else.  Was  it  to 
William  Brenton  ?  " 

"By      Jove!"      said      the     doctor, 


198  3from  Tldbose  Bourne* 

"  there's  something  in  that.  Say,  let 
us  go  to  the  drug  store." 

The  two  went  out  together,  and 
walked  to  the  drug  store  on  the 
corner  of  Blank  Street  and  Nemo 
Avenue. 

"  Do  you  know  this  writing?" 
said  Doctor  Roland  to  the  druggist, 
pointing  to  the  label  on  the  box. 

"  Yes,"  answered  the  druggist ;  "  that 
was  written  by  one  of  my  assistants." 

"  Can  we  see  him  for  a  few  mo 
ments  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  where  he  is  to  be 
found.  He  is  a  worthless  fellow,  and 
has  gone  to  the  devil  this  last  few 
weeks  with  a  rapidity  that  is  some 
thing  startling." 

"  When  did  he  leave  ?  " 

"  Well,  he  got  drunk  and  stayed 
drunk  during  the  holidays,  and  I  had 
to  discharge  him.  He  was  a  very  val 
uable  man  when  he  was  sober ;  but  he 
began  to  be  so  erratic  in  his  habits 
that  I  was  afraid  he  would  make  a 


ffrom  'CGlbose  bourne*  199 

ghastly  mistake  some  time,  so  I  dis 
charged  him  before  it  was  too  late/' 

"  Are  you  sure  you  discharged  him 
before  it  was  too  late.'* 

The  druggist  looked  at  the  doctor, 
whom  he  knew  well,  and  said,  "I 
never  heard  of  any  mistake,  if  he  did 
make  it." 

"  You  keep  a  book,  of  course,  of  all 
the  prescriptions  sent  out  ?  " 

"  Certainly." 

"  May  we  look  at  that  book?  " 

"  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  show  it  to 
you.  What  month  or  week?" 

"  I  want  to  see  what  time  you  sent 
this  box  of  morphia  to  me." 

"You  don't  know  about  what  time 
it  was,  do  you  ?  " 

"Yes;  it  must  have  been  about  two 
weeks  before  Christmas." 

The  chemist  looked  over  the  pages 
of  the  book,  and  finally  said,  "  Here  it 
is." 

"  Will  you  let  me  look  at  that 
page  ?  " 


200  ffrom  Tldbose  JSourne. 

"  Certainly." 

The  doctor  ran  his  ringer  down  the 
column,  and  came  to  an  entry  written 
in  the  same  hand. 

"Look  here/'  he  said  to  Stratton, 
"  thirty  grains  of  quinine  sent  to 
William  Brenton,  and  next  to  it  thirty 
grains  of  morphia  sent  to  Stephen 
Roland.  I  see  how  it  was.  Those 
prescriptions  were  mixed  up.  My 
package  went  to  poor  Brenton." 

The  druggist  turned  pale. 

"I  hope,"  he  said,  "  nothing  public 
will  come  of  this." 

"  My  dear  sir,"  said  Roland,  "  some 
thing  public  will  have  to  come  of  it. 
You  will  oblige  me  by  ringing  up  the 
central  police  station,  as  this  book 
must  be  given  in  charge  of  the  author 
ities." 

"  Look  here,"  put  in  Stratton,  his 
newspaper  instinct  coming  uppermost, 
"  I  want  to  get  this  thing  exclusively 
for  the  Argus." 

"  Oh,  I  guess  there  will  be   no   trou- 


41  THEY  BEGAN  A  SEARCH  OF  THE  ROOM  IN  WHICH 
BRENTON  HAD  DIED,  BUT  NOTHING  WAS  FOUND." 
— Page  20 1. 


ffrom  T&lbose  Bourne.  20 r 

ble  about  that.  Nothing  will  be  made 
public  until  to-morrow,  and  you  can 
telegraph  to-night  if  we  find  the  box  of 
capsules  in  Brenton's  residence.  We 
must  take  an  officer  with  us  for  that 
purpose,  but  you  can  caution  or  bribe 
him  to  keep  quiet  until  to-morrow." 

When  the  three  went  to  William 
Brenton's  residence  they  began  a 
search  of  the  room  in  which  Brenton 
had  died,  but  nothing  was  found.  In 
the  closet  of  the  room  hung  the 
clothes  of  Brenton,  and  going  through 
them  Stratton  found  in  the  vest 
pocket  of  one  of  the  suits  a  small 
box  containing  what  was  described 
as  five-grain  capsules  of  sulphate  of 
quinine.  The  doctor  tore  one  of 
these  capsules  apart,  so  as  to  see  what 
was  in  it.  Without  a  moment's  hesi 
tation  he  said — 

"  There  you  are  !  That  is  the  mor 
phia.  There  were  six  capsules  in  this 
box,  and  one  of  them  is  missing. 
William  Brenton  poisoned  himself! 


202  ffrom  TKHbose  Bourne. 

Feeling  ill,  he  doubtless  took  what  he 
thought  was  a  dose  of  quinine.  Many 
men  indulge  in  what  we  call  the  qui 
nine  habit.  It  is  getting  to  be  a  mild 
form  of  tippling.  Brenton  committed 
unconscious  suicide !  " 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

A  group  of  men,  who  were  really 
alive,  but  invisible  to  the  searchers, 
stood  in  the  room  where  the  discovery 
was  made.  Two  of  the  number  were 
evidently  angry,  one  in  one  way  and  one 
in  another.  The  rest  of  the  group  ap 
peared  to  be  very  merry.  One  angry 
man  was  Brenton  himself,  who  was 
sullenly  enraged.  The  other  was  the 
Frenchman,  Lecocq,  who  was  as  deeply 
angered  as  Brenton,  but,  instead 
of  being  sullen,  was  exceedingly  vol 
uble. 

"  I  tell  you/'  he  cried,  "it  is  not  a 
mistake  of  mine.  I  went  on  correct 
principles  from  the  first.  I  was  misled 
by  one  who  should  have  known  better. 
You  will  remember,  gentlemen,"  he 


204  3from  TKHbose  Bourne* 

continued,  turning  first  to  one  and  then 
the  other,  "  that  what  I  said  was  this— 
we  had  certain  facts  to  go  on.  One 
of  those  facts  I  got  from  Mr.  Brenton. 
I  said  to  him  in  your  presence,  *  Did 
you  poison  yourself?'  He  answered 
me,  as  I  can  prove  by  all  of  you, '  No,  I 
did  not/  I  took  that  for  a  fact.  I 
thought  I  was  speaking  to  a  reasonable 
man  who  knew  what  he  was  talking 
about." 

"  Haven't  I  told  you  time  and  again," 
answered  Brenton,  indignantly,  "  that 
it  was  a  mistake?  You  asked  me  if  I 
poisoned  myself.  I  answered  you  that 
I  did  not.  Your  question  related  to 
suicide.  I  did  not  commit  suicide.  I 
was  the  victim  of  a  druggist's  mistake. 
If  you  had  asked  me  if  I  had  taken 
medicine  before  I  went  to  bed,  I  should 
have  told  you  frankly,  '  Yes.  I  took 
one  capsule  of  quinine.'  It  has  been 
my  habit  for  years,  when  I  feel  badly. 
I  thought  nothing  of  that." 

"  My    dear    sir,"    said     Lecocq,     "  I 


ffrom  TRUbose  JSoutne.  205 

warned  you,  and  I  warned  these  gentle 
men,  that  the  very  things  that  seem 
trivial  to  a  thoughtless  person  are  the 
things  that  sometimes  count.  You 
should  have  told  me  everything.  If 
you  took  anything  at  all,  you  should 
have  said  so.  If  you  had  said  to  me, 
'  Monsieur  Lecocq,  before  I  retired  I 
took  five  grains  of  quinine,'  I  should 
have  at  once  said,  '  Find  where  that 
quinine  is,  and  see  if  it  is  quinine,  and 
see  if  there  has  not  been  a  mistake.'  I 
was  entirely  misled ;  I  was  stupidly 
misled/' 

"Well,  if  there  was  stupidity," 
returned  Brenton,  "it  was  your 
own." 

"Come,  come,  gentlemen,"  laughed 
Speed,  "  all's  well  that  ends  well. 
Everybody  has  been  mistaken,  that's 
all  about  it.  The  best  detective  minds 
of  Europe  and  America,  of  the  world 
and  of  the  spirit-land,  have  been  misled. 
You  are  all  wrong.  Admit  it,  and  let 
it  end." 


206  ffrom  TKHbose  bourne* 

"My  dear  sir,"  said  Lecocq,  "I 
shall  not  admit  anything.  I  was  not 
wrong;  I  was  misled.  It  was  this 
way " 

"  Oh,  now,  for  goodness*  sake  don't 
go  over  it  all  again.  We  understand  the 
circumstances  well  enough." 

"  I  tell  you,"  cried  Brenton,  in  an 
angry  tone,  "  that " 

"Come,  come,"  said  Speed,  "we 
have  had  enough  of  this  discussion. 
I  tell  you  that  you  are  all  wrong, 
every  one  of  you.  Come  with  me, 
Brenton,  and  we  will  leave  this  amus 
ing  crowd." 

"  I  shall  do  nothing  of  the  kind," 
answered  Brenton,  shortly. 

"  Oh,  very  well  then,  do  as  you 
please.  I  am  glad  the  thing  is  ended, 
and  I  am  glad  it  is  ended  by  my  Chi 
cago  friend." 

"  Your  Chicago  friend  !  "  sneered 
Brenton,  slightingly.  "  It  was  dis 
covered  by  Doctor  Stephen  Ro 
land." 


3from  Tldbose  JSourne.  207 

"  My  dear  fellow/'  said  Speed, 
"  Stephen  Roland  had  all  his  time  to 
discover  the  thing,  and  didn't  do  it, 
and  never  would  have  done  it,  if 
George  Stratton  hadn't  encountered 
him.  Well,  good-bye,  gentlemen ;  I 
am  sorry  to  say  that  I  have  had  quite 
enough  of  this  discussion.  But  one 
thing  looms  up  above  it  all,  and  that 
is  that  Chicago  is  ahead  of  the  world 
in  everything — in  detection  as  well  as 
in  fires." 

"  My  dear  sir,"  cried  Lecocq,  "  it  is 
not  true.  I  will  show  you  in  a  mo 
ment " 

"  You  won't  show  me,"  said  Speed, 
and  he  straightway  disappeared. 

"  Come,  Ferris,"  said  Brenton,  "  af 
ter  all,  you  are  the  only  friend  I  seem 
to  have  ;  come  with  me." 

" Where  are  you  going?"  asked 
Ferris,  as  they  left. 

"  I  want  ^to  see  how  my  wife  takes 
the  news." 

"  Don't,"    said    Mr.    Ferris— "  don't 


cos  ffrom  "rabose  JBourne* 

do  anything  of  the  kind.  Leave  mat 
ters  just  where  they  are.  Everything 
has  turned  out  what  you  would  call  all 
right.  You  see  that  your  interfer 
ence,  as  far  as  it  went,  was  per 
fectly  futile  and  useless.  I  want  now 
to  draw  your  attention  to  other 
things/' 

"  Very  well,  I  will  listen  to  you," 
said  Brenton,  "  if  you  come  with 
me  and  see  how  my  wife  takes  the 
news.  I  want  to  enjoy  for  even  a 
moment  or  two  her  relief  and  pleas 
ure  at  rinding  that  her  good  name  is 
clear." 

"  Very  well,"  assented  Ferris,  "  I 
will  go  with  you. " 

When  they  arrived  they  found  the 
Chicago  reporter  ahead  of  them.  He 
had  evidently  told  Mrs.  Brenton  all 
the  news,  and  her  face  flushed  with 
eager  pleasure  as  she  listened  to  the 
recital. 

"Now,"  said  the  Chicago   man,    "I 


ffrom  Whose  Bourne*  209 

am  going  to  leave  Cincinnati.  Are 
you  sorry  I  am  going  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Mrs.  Brenton,  looking 
him  in  the  face,  "  I  am  not  sorry." 

Stratton  flushed  at  this,  and  then 
said,  taking  his  hat  in  his  hand,  "  Very 
well,  madam,  I  shall  bid  you  good 
day." 

"  I  am  not  sorry,"  said  Mrs.  Brenton, 
holding  out  her  hand,  "  because  I  am 
going  to  leave  Cincinnati  myself,  and 
I  hope  never  to  see  the  city  again.  So, 
if  you  stayed  here,  you  see,  I  should 
never  meet  you  again,  Mr.  Strat 
ton." 

"  Alice,"  cried  Stratton,  impulsively 
grasping  her  hand  in  both  of  his, 
"  don't  you  think  you  would  like  Chi 
cago  as  a  place  of  residence?" 

"  George,"  she  answered,  "  I  do  not 
know.  I  am  going  to  Europe,  and 
shall  be  there  for  a  year  or  two." 

Then  he  said  eagerly — 

"When  you  return,  or  if  I  go  over 
there  to  see  you  after  a  year  or  two, 


2io  ffrom  Wbose  bourne* 

may      I     ask      you       that      question 
again  ?  " 

"  Yes/'  was  the  whispered  answer. 


"Come/*    said    Brenton    to   Ferris, 
"  let  us  go." 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY, 
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-NOV   121!. 

TEB  24  1969  6  3 

E$> 

- 


20m-I,'22 


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